


A Slytherin and Her Spider

by petermanspideyparker



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, BAMF Michelle Jones, Black Suit Spider-man - Freeform, Break Up, F/M, Hufflepuff Peter, Insane Norman Osborn, Maybe Make Up?, Slow Burn, Slytherin MJ
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 44,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petermanspideyparker/pseuds/petermanspideyparker
Summary: After Peter is left severely injured during an attack on New York, Doctor Strange transports him to the other side of the world to heal. When he awakes to find himself seemingly alone in a bizarre castle, Peter finds out that Stephen Strange isn't the only magical leader in the world. Hopefully, the green robed girl he encounters can teach him more about the school called "Hogwarts".
Relationships: Betty Brant/Ned Leeds, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 230





	1. Hogwarts

It was universally known that Peter Benjamin Parker had a death wish, and in a city like New York, that wish was almost certain to come true. In the span of only six years, a gigantic green monster had pretty much broke Harlem, aliens descended from the sky led by a Norse myth, more end of the world bullshit here and there, more aliens, and so on and so forth.

Peter often wondered what his Uncle Ben would have done if their roles were reversed. If he was never the one bitten by that damned spider. If it was him bleeding out on the pavement eight months ago instead of his father figure. But alas, the man he admired most was no longer with him, and every time the city fell into chaos, Peter decided to put himself in danger for his sake.

It was how Aunt May and Uncle Ben raised him. He couldn't help but help people.

Just about ten years had elapsed since Peter was dropped off at the old apartment in Queens for a quick visit, and it didn't take long for him to call that place his home. It wasn't large by any means, nor did they have the many modern conveniences as his classmates thanks to their money troubles, but if there were only a couple words that could describe their home, it was safe, and warm.

As per usual, the first thing Peter heard in the morning was Aunt May's soothing voice once she knocked quietly on his bedroom door. Buried in a sea of blankets, she pulled the covers away from his head, revealing a very messy haired, pale boy with an acne riddled face.

"Morning, sweetie." May smiled, planting a kiss to his forehead, ruffling her nephew's hair in the process. "I know it's Saturday, but ten o'clock is pushing it just a little."

Peter's appearance had grown ever so indecent over the course of eight months. Of course, he never thought of himself as much to look at, but wearing a mask constantly came with unforeseen consequences. Since Spider-Man never showed his face, Peter's exposure to the sun had decreased, resulting in paler skin. He also tended to sweat quite a bit, which was the source of his acne.

Maybe it was God's way of evening things out. Peter traded in his weak frame and atrocious height for some instantaneous muscles and a massive growth spurt. He did admit that it seemed fair. Although Peter did make sure that he kept his glasses, despite the fact he gained perfect eyesight. It would have been easy to convince the people at school that he got contacts, but no story could fool May Parker.

She was the kind of woman who could make anyone tell the truth - all it took was a simple glare from her. It was the kind of look that could make you feel guilty and afraid at the same time, just knowing that May wasn't impressed with attempts at lying. Peter had surprised himself that he'd been able to hide his powers from her for this long.

"Sorry, May." he apologized with a yawn, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"It's all right." she responded, making her way back into the hallway with her keys in hand. "My shift at the hospital starts soon and I won't be home until past midnight. I wanted to say goodbye before I left. There's some extra sandwiches in the fridge in case you wanted to invite Ned over today, and I left some money on the counter for pizza. And please, sweetie, try not to eat too much junk food this time."

The infamous junk food weekend - how could Peter have forgotten with his favourite aunt (and his only aunt) reminding him of it every time she left him home alone? It must have been about two years ago when they were twelve. Ben made the mistake of leaving Peter by himself for the weekend while he took May out for their twenty-fifth anniversary together. He gave him his trademarked 'with great power comes great responsibility' speech to find out that Peter and Ned ate no real meals on the weekend. Their diet pretty much consisted of chips and any kind of soda. But seriously, what did they expect from a twelve year old?

"You've got nothing to worry about, May. I promise."

However, as the day progressed, Peter would find himself breaking yet another promise.

***

Before Spider-Man, Saturday's used to be a lot less chaotic. Back then, his worries all seemed to melt away once the weekend arrived. Every morning, he and Ben would wake up early to have breakfast at some crappy diner. May usually had a late shift on Friday nights, so they'd let her sleep in for a while then make pancakes for her once they got back. Peter never planned on the tradition dying.

Now, patrol took up most of his free time. and being a _Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man_ wasn't as glamorous as the whole Avengers gig. No longer was Peter able to hang out with Ned twenty-four-seven, or treat photography with the same amusement as he used to, or do his homework on time, or even do something as simple as read - which was what he enjoyed most of all.

With his grades slipping and his already horrendous social life deteriorating, swinging on a web above New York City was the thing that gave him the most joy in the world.

Things were so much simpler when things were smaller. Peter smiled to himself underneath his mask as he accelerated towards the ground in a freefall, feeling his stomach drop with the ground getting closer and closer with every passing second.

With a flick of his wrist, Peter shot a web towards a nearby building, launching his body back into the air just before he hit the ground. Currently above the skyscrapers, Peter locked his vision on the police cars a few blocks away, watching them speed down the streets with their sirens blaring.

"What have you got for me today, New York?" he asked, heading off in the same direction.

Screams became more audible as Peter approached the source of the danger. A foreign feeling made its way to his arm with one of his webs beginning to vibrate back and forth rapidly. Out of nowhere, the building crumbled to the ground, bringing Peter along with it.

"What the hell?!" A familiar voice exclaimed, grabbing Peter by the wrist to prevent him from falling. "Kid, what are you doing here?!"

He looked up with his mechanical eyes widened, coming face to face with the red and gold helmet belonging to the one and only Tony Stark, AKA Iron Man. Despite the fact that the entirety of his face was concealed, Peter could easily visualize the look of disappointment and shock.

The two of them had a pretty... _complicated_ friendship. Ever since Peter turned down the opportunity to join the Avengers, they'd kept in contact periodically, but he still got the sense that Tony wished he picked differently. The problem was that joining would have meant revealing his identity, and that was a risk he couldn't take.

As well as this drawback, Peter always saw himself as more of a solo act. Looking out for the little guy was more important than the fame that came with being one of earth's mightiest heroes. But that didn't mean Peter couldn't help them out when he got the chance.

"Well, you know, I was in the neighbourhood, I saw a couple of police cars coming this way, and I thought it would be a nice day for a stroll and all that. You know how it goes. BUT WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING HERE?!"

"Language!" Tony responded furiously, dropping him off on a nearby rooftop. "It started about ten minutes ago. We think it's some kind of artificial earthquake, but we don't know what's causing it. Cap and I were able to get that building evacuated before it crumbled, but we still have a lot more people to secure. Get in, help who you can, and get them to the safe-zone ten blocks back."

Peter nodded in agreement, leaping towards the closest building with the ground continuing to shake, kicking through a window and landing inside what appeared to be an office. Debris were everywhere from the upper floors that had already collapsed, along with overturned desks and destroyed belongings. He looked down at his feet to see broken frames with family photos in them, some of which were clutched in the cold hands of the ones who had already passed.

Clearing away the lump that already formed in his throat, Peter pulled up a portion of his mask so his voice would come out as clear as possible, shouting at the top of his lungs "HELLO?! IS ANYBODY IN HERE?!"

There weren't any responses that could be made out amongst the chaos, but there were muffled groans and small cries coming out all over the floor. That was all he needed to hear. As long as some people were still alive, Peter was thankful.

Peter dashed across the area, examining the bodies on the floor along the way, but found that very few of them had survived. The _lucky_ _ones_ were barely alive, on the verge of being crushed underneath their desks until he cleared them away. Peter resorted to taking as many people as he could carry, holding them over his shoulders in a pile.

The next quake hit harder than any of the previous ones, resulting in the destruction of the building in one go. He fought for his breath as it began to crumble. Peter could feel the ground give out as it broke into two sides. The excess weight was almost too much for him, forcing him to walk, but moving as fast as he could.

Peter saw his only hope on the other side. The afternoon sunlight barely shined through one of the busted windows, which was just big enough for them to escape through.

"Come on, Spider-Man." he told himself repeatedly, coughing violently now that he'd broken into a full-on sprint, using up nearly all of his energy.

Before Peter made it to the window, he started to fall to the floor below as he could no longer keep up. Time seemed to slow down from his perspective, his spider-sense burning more intense than he ever thought possible. In one swift motion, he threw the survivors through the window, shooting a web at each of them in order to break their fall.

With that, the sunlight was cut off from his vision, enveloping Peter in complete darkness as he continued to descend. Landing with a thud, Peter somehow screamed in agony with his entire body with the rest of the building crashing on top of him, pinning him down. Nothing but his pain could be heard for blocks. The scream came again, and again, and again; despairing... terrified... mortal. Not the cries of a superhero, but merely a boy who was begging for help, completely alone.

***

It must have been hours later when the Avengers were finally able to locate Peter. With Bruce, Thor, and Dr. Strange holding up the rubble, Tony crawled underneath the pile and successfully pulled him out into the open. Even the slightest motion of the debris could have resulted in the death of Peter Parker. At least he was alive, but clinging to life by a thread.

Tony dragged his motionless body by the wrist, laying the boy down carefully as everyone gathered around him - or at least they gathered around what was left of him.

Peter's mask had been completely ripped away, but the blood covering a majority of his face matched the same shade of red he wore, the main source coming from his broken nose and the small fragments of glass digging their way into his cheeks.

The entirety of his right arm was gone, torn away violently during the impact with his bones sticking out by his shoulder, leaving a beaten pulp behind. That was all that was left; a pulp, with sharp bone splinters.

Strange hovered over him, waving a single hand with orange sparks originating from his hands.

"We need to get him to a hospital!" Tony cried, tears running down his face as he tried to grab the young hero, but was stopped by the doctor.

"They can't do anything for him." Strange said calmly, taking his Sling Ring and forming a portal beside them, motioning for his cloak to pick Peter up carefully. "If anything, they'll make his condition worse. But I know people who can help him. Their magic is far stronger than mine."

Peter, with the cloak around his shoulders, levitated through the newly formed portal. Followed by Dr. Strange, he turned towards the rest of the Avengers, holding up a single hand as a warning.

"Where I'm going, none of you can follow. These people don't take kindly to outsiders."

***

When Peter awoke, he did not open his eyes. It was the kind of slumber that he wanted to return to, but just couldn't. Movement might as well have been out of the question, lying in a bed that was definitely not his own, yet felt like something magical.

His cheek was pressed up against the cool, marshmallow-like pillow, sinking into it as if it was now a part of him. The warmth from the blanket had wrapped itself around Peter, relaxing his incredibly weary muscles and putting him into an almost hypnotic state. Maybe it was a dream.

Rolling over, Peter winced with a shooting pain coming from his right arm, travelling down from his shoulder to his fingertips. He leaned up in the unfamiliar bed, seeing that his arm was in some kind of a sling made out of cloth - not very modern like the ones Aunt May used at the hospital. Most of his torso was bandaged up, wrapped tightly around his abdomen.

The only article of real clothing he had on were a pair of blue and white striped pajama bottoms which were far too long for him, and not even those belonged to him.

For the first time, Peter took in his surroundings. He was in some kind of hospital, that he was certain of. There were multiple beds, all of which were empty and neatly made with the same green blankets and white pillows. The place seemed old, having no instruments in sight, with stone floors and walls, and old chandeliers hanging from the ceiling with candles instead of light bulbs.

The small nightstand by his bed had an empty glass on it, and a peculiar bottle on it fashioned to have the appearance of a skeleton. In bold, black letters, it read; **SKELE-GROW: 1100 drops. Bone Regenerator. Bone-fide results every time. Sold only by Rubens Winkius and Company Inc.**

Peter's brows furrowed, standing to his feet. Where on earth was he? How the hell did he get here? What day was it? Did Aunt May know? Was he really alone in this place? All these questions raced through the boy's head, desperate for answers. The only way his mind could be put at ease was to figure them out himself.

The doors were wide open, leading out into a hall that was just as extravagant and old as the hospital wing, being built out of the exact same stone material. At least there was a grandfather clock placed by the wall on his way out, showing that it was just past ten o'clock. So far, one of his questions was half-answer. With the time, all he needed was a date.

God, Peter hoped that it was still Saturday. Or even Sunday. Everyone would have been in class by now, and he didn't need another absent mark on his already 'appalling attendance record' to use the exact words of his guidance counselor.

He couldn't have been out for that long. Even though Peter was asleep, his body clock didn't feel thrown off by any means. They were probably still in October, but there was still plenty of time unaccounted for.

One thing that put his mind at ease were the bandages. Obviously, Peter didn't do those himself, pointing towards the fact that he wasn't alone in this place. Another question down.

"Pardon me, young man, are you lost?" A voice with some kind of British accent asked out of nowhere.

Peter looked around frantically, but found there was nobody in sight. The only notable object was a picture on the wall, featuring an elderly couple in purple robes. Perhaps it was his mind playing tricks on him, but they seemed to be looking straight at him.

Shaking off this phenomenon, Peter continued down the hall at a rather slow pace (since his legs too had an unexplainable pain lurking inside of them) until he came to some kind of stairway. Now he was _sure_ this was some kind of dream. The entire thing spanned up and down at immeasurable lengths with wide varieties of staircases.

However, they were far from normal. They were moving! Some horizontally, others vertically. There weren't any visible means of a mechanism, but they lead to a countless number of rooms. More pictures had been scattered all over the walls, and they moved as well! The entire thing seemed like magic!

Peter had seen his fair share of weirdness in his fourteen years of existence, but nothing could have prepared him for this. Not even Mr. Doctor Strange (he was about sixty-seven percent sure that it was his made-up name) and Mr. Wong's Sanctum Sanctorum was this impressive.

Before they had a chance to move on him, Peter picked the first staircase in front of him, heading upwards and skipping a step each time (good thing he did, otherwise he would have been caught in one of the trick stairs). Turning left, right, moving up and heading down over and over again until he finally managed to get to a piece of ground that didn't move, Peter let out a sigh of relief. He didn't care how spectacular the sight was; he never wanted to go through that chaos again.

The next room he managed to find himself in was clearly a library, and the sheer size of it was enough to make the entire school of Midtown look small in comparison. There were hundreds - _no_ \- tens of thousands of books on hundreds of shelves which went all the way up to the ceiling. How anyone could reach them was a complete mystery.

Peter's eyes travelled over the empty desks, noticing a lone girl - no older than he was - who was buried in a book, appearing to have been sitting there for hours, glued to the chair. A portion of her curly brown hair was falling into her eyes, but she didn't seem to notice.

He approached carefully, not wanting to startle her. The closer he came, the more detail he noticed. Especially with the uniform she was wearing. The first layer consisted of a white dress shirt and a knee-length black skirt, neither of which had a single wrinkle in them, epitomising excellence. Underneath were black leggings and perfectly polished shoes, giving off a conservative impression.

Her second layer made Peter wonder how she wasn't burning alive at the moment, having on black sweater with a small green pattern on each wrist, paired with a green and silver tie. Lastly, there was her robe which had a peculiar crest on the left side. Eerily, the animal in the dead centre was a snake - a symbol people associated with evil.

"Excuse me, miss?" Peter greeted, but she still didn't notice his presence. "Hello?" he asked again, tapping her on the shoulder this time, causing her to yelp, falling out of her chair and landing onto the floor with a thud. "Oh, God! I'm so sorry!" Peter apologized quickly, rushing to help her up.

"It's all right." the girl muttered, clearing away the hair from her face, revealing two bright green eyes.

Immediately, he was fascinated with her. The voice and its sophisticated tone, the rare pairing of her dark skin and green eyes that were the exact same shade as her robes, even her apparent clumsy nature and interest in books.

"Again, I'm _really_ sorry. I uh... I swear I didn't mean to scare you or anything like that, but I -"

Now that they were both on their feet, Peter realized how much taller she was than him. However, it wasn't this that puzzled him, rather that she pulled some kind of stick from her robes, pointing it in his face.

"You're an American." she observed.

"That's what it says on my passport." Peter nodded, casually moving the stick away from his face with a single finger. "Is that a problem, or...?"

"You're a Muggle!" the girl said with a slight panic in her voice, repeating her movements and jamming the stick back in his face. "How did you get here?!"

"Well, I don't really know what a Muggle is, so joke's on you. And I don't know where _here_ is. I literally _just_ woke up here!"

She looked him up and down slowly as if she was studying him, putting most of her focus on his bandaged torso. The girl poked his arm carefully, becoming aware of the kind of pain he was experiencing. She lowered the stick with a sigh, taking Peter by the hand and leading him out through the way he came in.

"You really don't know how you got here?" she questioned, to which he responded with a shake of his head. "I'm taking you to the Headmistress. She'll know what to do with you."

"Headmistress? You mean like... in a school?"

"Yes, a school." the girl said with a roll of her eyes. "You're in Hogwarts."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who actually finished the first chapter of this thing, I hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading! Feedback/criticism is welcomed, and I'd love to know what I could do better for the next chapter. Have a great day!


	2. The Sorting Hat

Peter was a curious person by nature. There was never _not_ a time where this wasn't true. Even before he could walk, he could remember wanting to take apart every device in the house to figure out how they worked. At the time, Peter kept wondering how so many people managed to fit inside the radio and the television, or how the computer could spew out information in mere seconds with only a few button presses. Learning the truths behind these only made him want to dive deeper into their mysteries.

That being said, it was causing him great physical pain to not ask the green-eyed girl every question that was running through his head at the moment. He got the sense that it wouldn't have been the best of decisions, as she hadn't looked him in the eye since leaving the library, simply leading him through the corridors and holding onto his hand tightly, probably because she didn't want him to get away.

In all honesty, Peter wasn't complaining. Whoever she was, she had... nice skin. You know, as skin typically goes. They were pretty much the exact opposite of his, being incredibly soft to the touch, her nails noticeably chewed as a nervous habit with a couple of paper cuts on her fingertips, attached to two bony wrists.

On the other _hand,_ his were rough, having plenty of thick calluses and blisters thanks to his career as a superhero. Climbing walls without gloves wasn't always a comfortable affair. Peter's hand meeting hers was a nice change of pace. It felt comfortable, despite the fact that both of them were growing hot with sweat forming between the two of their palms.

Peter was beginning to notice certain aspects of his surroundings that he had failed to take in earlier due to his more fatigued state, and not just the magical side of things. The girl's words appeared to be true, and this was in fact a school, as they passed plenty of half-open rooms along the way with children their age sitting to face a lecturing adult. He could have also sworn there were translucent men and women hovering around the corridors - hardly something he would question at this point in his life.

With one final turn of a corner, they came to a stop in front of an absolutely hideous gargoyle that was made out of stone, having the body of a lion seated in a small crease in the wall, its tail wrapped around its feet. It's head however, was some kind of bird, staring down at Peter with golden eyes among the dark stone. To add to the peculiarity, the gargoyle's wings were spread out, giving off an intimidating presence, making him wonder if she was really taking him to see the Headmistress.

"Animagi!" she finally said aloud, and at that moment, the gargoyle hopped off to the side as if it was really a living, breathing thing. Peter cursed under his breath, watching the wall behind split in two with a gold spiral staircase ascending, but showing no sign of any kind of motor. The stairs just floated by themselves, not even attached to the wall.

"You're amazing." he said with his voice consumed in admiration, joining her on the top step that kept going upwards in circles, making him feel somewhat dizzy in the process. "How'd you do that?"

Regardless of the girl's dark skin tone, a prominent blush covered her cheeks, averting her gaze and looking down at her shoes. "Thank you." she said timidly, voice slightly muffled as she began to chew her fingernails. "But I didn't do anything. Anyone can do that as long as they know the password."

Once they reached the top, Peter saw that they were standing before a large wooden door that was so perfectly polished that it was almost glowing, being the most smooth surface he'd ever seen in his entire life. It was almost unnatural, having a brass knocker in the center that was in the same shape as the gargoyle below.

Without any movement from the girl, the door opened silently, revealing a large circular room that was unlike any of the others he'd seen so far - more extravagant than one could have ever imagined, having dozens of paintings on the wall, each one of the occupants sitting in their chairs and snoring. Three bookshelves went all the way up to a balcony just behind it, and there was also a brown, tattered hat on top of the middle one that Peter could have sworn had a face on it.

There were details that Peter couldn't have even tried to describe, since they didn't seem to be of the world he knew. Yet, there was a woman - probably the Headmistress - sitting at the desk writing away, not paying them any attention. Her face was rather stern and wrinkled, with a permanent scowl. How old she was almost impossible to determine, for she seemed to be younger than she actually was, but maturity beyond her years.

The Headmistress was dressed just as strangely as the girl, wearing emerald green robes and a tall, pointy hat that covered up most of her silver hair. Her glasses were framed by gold, hanging on the tip of her nose that made Peter wonder how they were able to stay on.

"Excuse me, Professor McGonagall," the girl began quietly, making themselves known to her. "could I please have a word?"

McGonagall raised her head, standing up from her desk as quiet as a cat, approaching them with an expressionless face. She had a slight limp to her walk, yet she didn't seem to need a cane for support. To the clear surprise of the girl, she didn't seem to question that Peter was there.

"Glad to see you've met our guest, Miss Jones." she said, giving a warm smile to both of them that reminded him of his late grandmother. "And how was your night, Mr. Parker? Or would you prefer if I called you Spider-Man?"

Immediately, he felt the colour drain from his face, eyes widening in an alarmed state. It felt as if there was an invisible hand being held over his face to stop him from breathing, and he could feel himself gasping for air, straining his lungs and his abdomen. No one can know; that was the promise he made when he started.

"What is a _Spider-Man_?" the girl - whose last name was apparently Jones - questioned, eyes darting between Peter and McGonagall.

"Not to worry," she reassured him, trying her best to put an end to Peter's panic attack. "your secret is safe with us. Please, sit. I imagine you have plenty of questions."

With a wave of her hand, two chairs materialized out of thin air in front of her desk. He blinked quickly, rubbing his eyes to make sure they weren't playing tricks on him. When they were still there after his reality check, Peter reached out hesitantly to touch them. They were indeed there, just as real as everything else he'd seen so far. Peter let out a sigh of relief as he sat down in the chair, putting all his weight onto it while sitting mere inches away from the girl.

McGonagall was tapping her fingers in rhythm on her desk, the only sound currently audible in the office at the moment. Her smile had faded away, now replaced with a serious face. Peter already got the sense that she wasn't someone to mess with. Whatever they were about to discuss, she was obviously a no-nonsense woman.

"I want to make something perfectly clear, Mr. Parker. The only reason I am obligated to keep your identity a secret is because I am relying on you to keep ours. Should you reveal anything to a Muggle other than the one staring back at you in the mirror, the name Peter Parker will become more infamous faster than you can say Quidditch."

Peter's brows furrowed, looking at the elderly woman curiously.

"Are you... blackmailing me, professor?"

"If that wasn't the impression I gave, I must have said it wrong. For all of our sakes, let's hope that it doesn't come to that. Now then, I'm sure you've been wondering how you arrived here." He nodded in response, too afraid to make a witty comment. "You were in an accident that was nearly fatal. Once your friend, Doctor Strange, was able to recover your body, he transported you here immediately for treatment."

Memories came rushing back to him in flashes, but nothing was concrete. They were memories of pain, and just like nightmares, they vanished as quickly as they came. The pain however, that remained deep within his mind. Peter recalled how each moment came with more suffering than the last, stripping away every feeling of safety he ever had.

"What kind of place is this?" he asked softly, looking down at his numb arm in the sling.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a place separate from your world where our kind comes to learn magic. It was a wonderful coincidence that Miss Jones was the first to encounter you. She's one of our finest students in the school, and easily the smartest witch in her year. I can think of no one better to show you around."

The girls head shot up from her lap, but no words came from her mouth as she tried to protest. McGonagall had beaten her to the punch.

"This Muggle is not a danger to our world yet, Michelle. If he tries anything, you have my full permission to hex him."

Michelle Jones. Why did he care so much to know her name? Why did he think it was such a great name? Why on earth was he still staring at her after so many moments of silence had passed? Peter turned back to McGonagall in a flash once she noticed him looking, and he cleared his throat awkwardly, eyes darting in all directions to make it look like it was unintentional.

Nailed it.

"I'm going to be staying here? But... what about my Aunt May? Does she know I'm okay?!"

"She doesn't know about the nature of your absence, but everything has been taken care of by Mr. Stark. You won't be able to leave until the end of this week, since you still need time to heal. In the meantime, you should make yourself comfortable. Miss Jones, why don't you give him the tour, then you can both join the rest of the students down in the great hall for lunch. But first we must have you change into some more appropriate attire than pajamas bottoms. Students are usually required to wear shirts in Hogwarts, Mr. Parker."

Peter glanced down at his torso, realizing that the bandaged were already coming undone. It was actually a relief for him, because they were previously digging into his skin, forming red indentations around his stomach due to how tight they were. He didn't even notice how much they were hindering his breathing. Now, Peter was receiving quite literally a breath of fresh air.

"Not even on casual Friday?" he smirked, regretting his words the second the left his mouth as McGonagall gave him an unimpressed look.

" _A_ _ll_ children are permitted to wear the uniform every day, in every lesson, and any time they are inside the Great Hall, Study Hall, Common Room, or the library. You may be a Muggle, yet the rules still apply. As long as you're in the wizarding world, you must wear the clothes we wear, eat the foods we eat, and learn the things we learn." she stated, standing up one again, the tattered hat from the bookshelves flying into her hand. "Please, no song this time."

"As you wish, Professor McGonagall." the hat spoke from a rip near the brim, using it like a mouth and causing Peter to jump out of his chair. "Who do we have here?"

"This is Peter Parker. He's what you would call a _special case._ Just try on the hat, Mr. Parker, and you shall find out where you will belong over the course of this week. Get back on your chair now, this is non-negotiable."

Peter gazed into what he assumed were the hats eyes. Even though it was a piece of fabric, there was something off about it - aside from the fact that it spoke. The hat had an untrustworthy face, having eyes that were angry in a twisted squint, and a mouth that gave off the appearance of an evil grin. Why the hell would he want to try that thing on?

"It's all right." Michelle spoke up, giving him a half smile.

He sighed, following their instructions and sitting back in his chair, gripping the edges with all his might to keep himself from getting up. Peter didn't exactly trust himself not to jump and run away. The last thing he saw was Michelle, until the hat went over his eyes, enveloping him in complete darkness.

"You're no wizard!" the hat shouted in his ear. "But not completely human either... very interesting. I see potential for you to learn our ways. And I can see that you're a good-hearted chap. Clever, but you haven't got a shroud of confidence with you! No ambition! No leadership! Slytherin would be out of the question! But where to put you? Brave, just, loyal, curious, and intelligent. Very difficult a boy like you is, very moral as well. You would do anything to protect your friends, wouldn't you? In that case, you'd better be... HUFFLEPUFF!"

McGonagall pulled the hat off of him, allowing Peter to see once more. Thank God it was finally over. Now that the hat was off, Peter prayed he would never have to wear it again. Although it added more questions to the ones that had been piling since he'd woken up that morning. What was a Hufflepuff?

***

Michelle and Peter made their way back down to the Hospital Wing after they left Professor McGonagall's office. Since most of the students were still in class, they were able to avoid the crowds and make it back in no time, and Peter found it much easier to navigate now that he had a guide.

They were still the only two people in the area, with no other patients or teachers present. Coming back to the bed he'd left that very same morning, Peter saw that there was a uniform much like Michelle's layed out for him, but it also had a few minor differences.

Instead of green, his robes had small patches of yellow amongst the black. There was still the white shirt, the sweater, and the polished shoes, but he had a pair of pants to go along with the uniform rather than a skirt and leggings. The crest was also different, possibly the biggest change he could find. It wasn't a serpent like Michelle's, but a badger.

Peter groaned as he removed his useless arm from the sling, tearing away the bandages from his torso with one swift motion. His brain might as well have been turned off, and without thinking, he pulled down his pajama bottoms and let them pool down around his feet on the floor, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.

Behind him, Michelle let out a barely noticeable squeak, resulting in a half-naked Peter to turn his body to face her. The fourteen-year-old girls blush burned through her cheeks, eyes travelling up and down him, showing no sign of looking away. Michelle tried her best to cover her face with her hair, and once Peter realized what he'd done, he too became just as flustered as she was.

He rushed to pull on the uniform, at least as fast as he could with only one good arm. It was probably the least graceful moment of his life, and even with superpowers, he couldn't stay balanced, jumping up and down repeatedly in an attempt to put on his pants. Peter's foot got caught in one of the pant legs, and he backed up into the bed, tripping over it and falling onto the stone floor.

Michelle hurried towards him, inspecting his arm carefully, and Peter saw that she had pulled out her stick again.

"You made me fall this morning, so I suppose this makes us even." she laughed softly, helping him to his feet. "Let me help you." With that, she waved the stick over his legs, and his pants were magically pulled on properly. Michelle did the same with his shirt, and in mere seconds, it was buttoned, tucked into his pants, and the yellow and black tie was formed into a perfect knot around his neck. "I've been practicing a few spells to get myself ready in the morning. It's not perfect yet, but I'm making progress."

"Not perfect?!" Peter cried out in disbelief. "You're amazing!" he said for the second time that day, and her response was the exact same as before. "Come on, you have to tell me how you did that."

She simply held the stick up to him, allowing him to get a good look at the thing for the very first time. It was far more detailed than Peter ever could have imagined, being about twelve inches in length, made out of some kind of dark wood with a green that matched the colour of her eyes and robes woven into the material. There were a countless number of carvings made into the body, appearing to be some sort of writing that he couldn't understand.

"Before coming to Hogwarts, each student goes to Ollivanders in Diagon Alley so their wand can select them. A lot of wizards and witches can't perform any magic without them. Muggles aren't supposed to be able to use wands, but... you're different, aren't you? Otherwise Professor McGonagall wouldn't be letting you learn as long as you're staying here."

"I've been told I'm a little different." Peter agreed, putting his arm back in the sling and neglecting the rest of his uniform on the bed since he was too warm to put on the rest of his layers. "Not in a good way though. I'd say you wouldn't believe me if I told you, but you're literally a witch. It's kind of a long story."

Michelle grinned down on him, making his stomach flip at the sight of it.

"I've got time. You can tell me all about it on the tour."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on updating today, but whatever. Once again, feedback/criticism is welcomed and I'm always looking to improve. Hope you all have a great day!


	3. Hagrid's Hut

Talking about Uncle Ben was never an easy thing for Peter. Come to think of it, he had never told anyone the truth of why he decided to become Spider-Man. For eight months, Peter didn't just lie to Aunt May about his identity, but about what truly happened to her husband. Ned was the first person to find out his secret, and his best friend quite possibly knew the nature of his motivation, yet it was never directly addressed by either one of them.

When Mr. Stark asked him why he first put on the mask, Peter simply said it was his responsibility to do so. Maybe it was the guilt that stopped him from speaking the truth, or it could have been a way to stay in denial. Even the mere mention of Ben would have made it seem... real.

There weren't many people in the world he could confide in, which made it all the more peculiar that it came so easy to talk to Michelle about his double life. Hogwarts must have been doing something strange to Peter, because unlike Midtown, he didn't feel afraid to be himself.

Never before had he been able to speak so freely or with such enthusiasm about Spider-Man. Not even with Ned, although that was more out of fear that Aunt May or someone in the halls would overhear them. It was as if a massive burden had been removed in an instant. Finally, Peter was in a place where someone didn't care that he was different, because she too had a secret to hide from the rest of the world.

In an attempt to get more comfortable, his shirt was now untucked and the top button undone and his tie loosened. Peter got the sense that Michelle was one of the more proper students at Hogwarts, seeing as she gave him a glare when he fixed himself up. However, she seemed to care a little less once Peter continued on regarding his origins.

"What kind of spider were you bitten by?" Michelle questioned, both fervently and with a hint of concern in her voice. "Was it an Acromentula? Did it hurt at all?"

Before Peter opened his mouth to answer, he stopped himself, quite possibly thinking before speaking for the very first time in his life. That spider bite made his hand hurt all day, so much so that he couldn't even move it shortly after. Peter couldn't even take notes with the rest of his classmates, resulting in him barely completing the assignment.

After he got home from the field trip to Oscorp, the pain only grew, resulting in a night of an intense fever that surpassed the levels of what normal humans could survive, and enough vomiting to last him a lifetime. After finding out what he did on that field trip, Peter was convinced that night would be his last.

"I barely felt anything." Peter finally spoke, trying to sound as tough as possible, hoping to impress her. "And the spider didn't really have a species. It was genetically engineered to have certain characteristics from other spiders. Mr. Osborn said they were supposed to be a prototype in their super soldier program, but none of the test subjects survived before. I don't know why I did... but I'm just glad to be alive."

"What in Merlin's name would make a soldier _super_?" she asked so quickly that he had barely finished his sentence.

He could feel that his legs were gaining strength with every passing second. Peter no longer had to limp or hop along just to keep up with Michelle in the halls, even though some pain lingered. He was more going through the motions, believing that it would simply disappear if he ignored it. Peter wasn't even going to consider the fact that one arm was still completely useless.

Peter stopped in his tracks and faced the stone wall that no doubt had a classroom on the other side, and leaped towards it with enough force that it partially cracked when his feet made contact with it. Instead of falling to the ground, he remained attached, proceeding to stand on it like a floor with a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

"Super enough for you?" he laughed, walking up the side, trying to ignore the increasingly uncomfortable sensation growing in his knees. Still, like so many times before, the feeling of gravity had seemingly left his body, leaving him bouncing happily on his toes.

"What is this magic you're using?!" she called up to him as he was now standing on the ceiling effortlessly. "It's brilliant!"

His foot began to slide against the surface as he took his next step, not sticking as securely as before, the pain in his knees reaching its breaking point. Peter stumbled slightly, and gravity hit him like a bang, both of his feet detaching from the ceiling immediately. With the floor approaching, time appeared to slow down in his perspective like so many times before, and purely as a reflex, Peter raised his one good arm while making a gesture with his hand in order to break his fall, although he wasn't wearing his web shooters.

By some miracle, a web was projected from his wrist, attaching itself to the ceiling and bringing him into a downward swing. Peter sped past Michelle, just barely avoiding the ground, sending himself back into the air. The sensation was almost identical to that of his web shooters, but it felt far more natural, with much less of a burden on his arm.

This shouldn't have been possible. Everything, down to the very last detail of the webs were exactly the same as the material he'd invented during his chemistry periods; strong enough to support him, but having no distinguishable weight to them. They came out of his wrist seamlessly as Peter continued to swing down the empty halls of Hogwarts, leaving behind a series of webs stuck to the ceiling.

When there was nowhere else to go as he was finally stopped by a door, Peter landed on the ground to stare down at his hand in awe. Clenching his hand into a tight fist, feeling a new kind of strength to him that he didn't believe he was capable of, Peter laughed to himself, shaking his head and saying "This is somethin' else."

Michelle scurried to the end of the hall next to Peter to examine his webs, only tracing a couple of fingers over them at first to make sure they were safe.

"I've never heard of a spell that can create rope like this." she spoke in a quiet voice, now pulling on the webs, finding them to be remarkably silky to the touch, flexible, and sticky. Michelle was almost unable to pull her hand away, but remained both calm and fascinated. "Never mind that they come from your hands. What more magic are you capable of?"

Peter chose not to correct her on this. Thor often said that magic and science were one in the same, only separated by people's perception. However, his decision didn't stem from the potential it might _actually_ be magic, but that she was interested. Interested in him. And Peter wanted it to last for as long as possible.

No one ever showed any sort of interest in Peter Parker. It was Spider-Man that people cared about so much, that no one at his school suspected the supposedly skinny orphan to be the man under the mask, despite how careless he'd been during the first couple of months into his vigilante career.

Of course he was clinging to the feeling that Michelle was giving him. Just like everything at the school, it was intoxicating. At this point, Peter wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to leave Hogwarts.

"I kind of have a sixth sense." he said, running a hand through his hair, a habit he performed from time to time whenever he became nervous. "Ned wanted to call it my _Peter Tingle_ before we came up with _Spider-Sense._ Thank God, 'cause _Peter Tingle_ just sounds stupid. Sometimes I get this tingling feeling in the back of my head, trying to tell me there's going to be danger before it happens. It really starts to hurt when I try to ignore it. One time, I was taking a test, and it started going crazy. When I was finally able to get out of class, it turned out there was a bank robbery ten blocks away. I don't even know how it works, but it really comes in handy since I get shot at a lot."

Michelle fell silent, studying his face carefully, and it was impossible to deduce what was going through her mind at the moment. Out of nowhere, she swung at his head with a flat palm, prepared to slap him without showing any regret. Peter ducked at the very last second with his eyes widened, retreating slightly until his back hit the wooden door.

"Did you feel the tingle?" she asked hopefully, a grin plastered on her face that spanned from ear to ear.

"Not this time." Peter responded, watching her smile fade away, making him feel rather guilty for disappointing her, but at the same time letting out a sigh of relief after finding out that she didn't wish to harm him. "But look on the bright side; I guess you're not really a threat to me."

Michelle appeared to brighten up once again at this statement, although Peter wouldn't have put it past her to attempt something of a similar nature to try and witness his Spider-Sense in action.

"We should probably get back to the tour, I suppose." Michelle mused, opening the door, a cool and heavy gust of wind meeting the two of them, blowing Peter's yellow and black tie in his face and further disarranging his already unkept hair. "Most of the professors should be teaching classes right now, and since we're in different houses, I wouldn't be able to show you the Hufflepuff Common Room. One of your seventh year prefects, either Thomas or Elsie, should be able to take care of that."

As they stepped out onto the grounds, Peter had to shield his eyes from the sun, seeing it for the first time in what felt like weeks. As they became adjusted to the great light, he gazed upon the land Hogwarts rested on.

In some directions, there were mountains that seemed to go on forever that were so tall that they went up into the clouds. Off in the distance, there was something that resembled a football field that had three poles with large hoops at the top rested on each side. At the bottom of the hill they stood on was a small house with smoke coming out of chimney, right on the border of what looked to be a forest.

"It's beautiful." Peter breathed out, sliding his feet along the tall, unnaturally green grass, getting dirt on his formerly shiny shoes.

Michelle led him down the hill on a series of poorly fashioned stone steps, that might as well have been broken off from the castle itself, heading towards the small house. To some, it wouldn't have seemed like much, but it had a cozy appeal to it, having a garden just outside of it filled with pumpkins. The door must have been twice the height of Peter, and just as wide, making him wonder what sort of person lived here.

She raised her hand, forming it into a fist and banging three times on the door, standing on the front step next to Peter with her arms by her sides. The next sight that welcomed them was nothing short of incredible.

If someone believed Bruce Banner was large as the Hulk, it was nothing in comparison to the bearded man standing before them, who would have made the gamma-powered superhero look short. His black beard and long shaggy hair (which was showing signs of going grey) covered most of his face, but Peter could make out a pair of kind eyes and rosy cheeks.

" 'ello there, Michelle!" the somewhat elderly giant greeted happily, pulling her into a hug, his hands practically covering her entire back due to their massive size. "An' who's this young lad you've brought with you?"

"Peter Parker." his voice came out as a quiet squeak, extending his hand to which the man shook with his pinkie finger, and even that was too large. "It - it's nice to meet you, sir."

"Yer an American, aren't ya?" he observed, ushering the two of them into his home, slamming the door shut behind them (which might have been unintentional given his apparent strength). "Welp, any friend of Michelle's is a friend of mine! Me name's Rubeus Hagrid, Professor of Care of Magical Creatures. I've got the kettle goin' if you'd be wantin' a cup o' tea, Peter. How 'bout you, Michelle? You'll be havin' the usual?"

Michelle nodded quickly in response, now sitting in an old leather armchair that was coming apart at the seams. Despite the fact that her back was pressed up against the end, her feet barely made it to the edge, even though they were stretched out.

"Yes please. And Peter will have the same."

Hagrid made his way over to the fireplace, kneeling down on the wooden floor - which was occupied by an equally disproportionate Boarhound dog with black fur that was also going grey, laying in a puddle of his own drool as he slept soundly. He poked the fire a few times to coax the flame into growing larger, then put on a pair of patched oven mitts once it reached the boiling point, removing the copper kettle and placing it on the counter.

"So, Peter" Hagrid spoke, placing three blue cups on the counter with matching saucers underneath them, carefully pouring the steaming water into each one. "what brings you to Hogwarts? I reckon you're visiting from Ilvermorny?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but Michelle beat him to the punch.

"Peter isn't a wizard, Hagrid." she said, causing him to perk up with surprise. "Though I'm not entirely certain if he's a Muggle. He arrived here the other day after he was injured, and Professor McGonagall had him sorted into Hufflepuff. He's going to be joining the rest of the fourth years for the rest of the week, so you should expect to see a lot more of him."

Hagrid seemed to grow calmer after her explanation, his worry replaced with intrigue. After passing out the tea around the room, he took a place next to Peter on the couch, the entire thing shifting along with the rest of the house shaking a bit.

"Not a wizard or a Muggle, eh? Never heard of somethin' like that before. Tell me, Peter... has anything ever happened to you that you couldn't explain? Have you ever done things that other couldn't have done, when you was scared, or even angry? Survived things that others couldn't?"

The simple answer was _yes_. But Spider-Man wasn't any kind of magic, at least not the kind that these people practiced. Other than the phenomenon that day when he discovered he now possessed organic webbing, there was nothing special. However, even during kindergarten, Peter had always been able to outrun Flash's gang after school, no matter how hard they tried.

When they managed to corner him in the halls and beat him up, his wounds were almost completely healed by the time he got home - something Peter was extremely thankful of, especially since Aunt May and Uncle Ben would have thrown a fit if they found out what he was subjected to at school.

"I don't think I'm a wizard, sir."

"Nonsense!" Hagrid scoffed. "You can see the school, can't you?!" his voice boomed, waiting for Peter's response, to which he muttered a quiet _yes._ "Then you aren't a Muggle, that's for certain! Them Muggles can't see nothin' of Hogwarts 'cept for an old abandoned castle!"

"He can do the most incredible things as well!" Michelle shouted, grabbing the attention of the two of them, her face turning scarlet after realizing she'd responded with such enthusiasm. "I mean... I've seen him use magic, Hagrid. At least they were things that Muggles could never do. We could speak to Professor McGonagall about taking him to Diagon Alley and find out if he's truly a wizard or not. Ollivander would be able to tell for certain, as long as a wand chooses him. Besides, Peter couldn't participate in Charms or Defense Against the Dark Arts without one."

Peter tried to protest, but found himself unable to do so. Michelle and Hagrid were far too excited for him to go on and burst their bubble. Quite frankly, the idea of Peter Parker being a wizard like either of them was completely ridiculous. There was nothing about him that was special like them. He wasn't born with any kind of power. Peter was just a boy who happened to get bitten.

"That's a splendid idea!" Hagrid exclaimed, patting him on the back, which would have hurt far more if he didn't have super strength. "Neville's - err - Professor Longbottom's havin' me stop by some of the shops this evening to pick up some Fluxweed for his Herbology class. Got the ol' motorbike from Harry ready for the trip an' everything. How many Galleon's have you got on you, Peter?"

"I believe the Muggle world uses a different currency than ours." Michelle added. "I have plenty left over from our last visit to Hogsmeade if you need any. Seven Galleon's should fetch you a lovely wand."

This was really happening. Once more, the typical Parker luck had managed to back him into a tight corner that seemed to be impossible to escape. Peter wished he could have been a part of a world as incredible as this. He wished he could have spent his days in a place so wonderful instead of constantly suffering at home. But they were nothing more than that.

They were just wishes.


	4. The Potions Master

In Peter's mind, calling his current location _'The Great Hall'_ didn't do it justice. Even thinking about it in the same context as the cafeteria back in Midtown seemed as an insult to the Hogwarts gathering area.

Along with the sunlight coming through the enormous windows, the hall was lit by a countless number of candles that were magically suspended in the air, not coming close to the ceiling, but what appeared to be the sky.

Underneath this were four long tables where the other students were sitting, and Peter noticed that their uniforms consisted of four different colours; green like Michelle's, yellow like his own, and finally red and blue. Although some were mixing with one another, the majority of students stuck to their colours.

When they first entered after departing from Hagrid's Hut, Michelle had told him to go sit with the rest of the Hufflepuffs. But after seeing her go off to seclude herself in a lone corner of the heavily populated green table, Peter got up, sat next to Michelle, and said nothing.

Sadly - if his hunch was correct - being alone was something normal for his new friend. He even spotted all the other students shifting slightly in the opposite direction to put a greater distance between them. Peter tried his best to ignore their glances when he joined her, yet found himself failing a couple times.

Why would people be so reluctant to talk to her - let alone go near her? Even after knowing Michelle for a few short hours, Peter's attitude towards her couldn't have been more different. Perhaps he was a little biased, given how nice she'd been to him, but that was beside the point.

"Hey, MJ!" a cheerful voice called out, and Michelle let out an irritated groan.

Three boys - who were wearing the same yellow and black tie as him, and were wearing their uniform similar to his own unkempt appearance - joined them at the corner of the table.

The one who spoke held a striking resemblance to Michelle; the same complexion, the same curly hair but shorter, even the same grin. The eyes however were different. Not even close to her fascinating shade of green, possessing a simple brown. The characteristic that stood out the most to Peter was how tall he was. Despite the fact he was sitting like the rest of them, he towered over all of them.

"I hate it when you call me that, Will."

"We know you love it." the boy on the left chimed in. "But you're never going to admit that we're right."

He was far more stocky in comparison to Will. Through his smile, Peter spotted a rather glaring gap in between his teeth. He must have had a similar death wish to Peter, because his forearms were covered in bruises, probably scattered along other parts of his body.

"Who's this, then?" the final one asked, amused. "Got yourself a boyfrien', MJ?"

Only two people in the group laughed at his comment. Peter and Michelle both blushed, and Will hit him over the head lightly.

"Fuck off, Calder. That's my sister you're talking about there."

"Well, she's also _our_ cousin, isn't she? And why didn't you hit Abel?! He laughed too!"

"Because he got hit with a Bludger this morning. And in case it slipped your mind, you were the one who sent it his way."

Calder shrugged, taking out his wand and muttering a quick phrase. Instantly, a sandwich flew past the face of a blue-tied girl's straight into his hand. Calder sent the startled student a quick wink with his cat-like eyes, taking his newly-acquired food and swallowing it whole.

"Sorry about that, mate - about the Bludger, not about this. I'm just calling it like it see it." He turned back to Michelle and Peter, staring at them. "When was the last time you saw MJ with someone other than us? Plus, she skipped out on Muggle Studies this morning... for the tenth time this year."

Under her breath, Michelle muttered that it was a completely useless subject, and it wasn't worth her time.

"It's obvious you were in the library, but were you reading, or were you snogging... I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"Peter. Peter Parker." he barely managed to answer. "A - and we weren't _snogging._ But we did meet in the library."

From there, Peter told them everything. How he woke up in the hospital wing and ran into Michelle. How she brought him to Professor McGonagall, and how he was placed into Hufflepuff. About their conversation with Hagrid and their plans to travel to Diagon Alley that night. He even told them about his powers - and just like Michelle, they interpreted it as magical talent. He still had no heart to correct them in their captivated state.

"Professor McGonagall says I can't go home until the end of the week. I guess I wouldn't be much use to anyone with my arm like this. And my powers aren't a hundred percent yet. I could barely manage to stick to the ceiling."

"Still better than any of us." Will said. "Have you had the chance to see our common room yet?" Peter shook his head in response, and the other three boys shared a look. "If you'd like, you could join us in our dormitory. We've got an empty bed there that you could take. But fair warning; these two snore like a couple of banshees."

If he wasn't hesitant to compare Hogwarts to Midtown before, he sure was now. His school life back in New York couldn't have been more different than what he was experiencing now. It wasn't that they learned magic here, or the moving staircases, or the living paintings that Peter found most unusual.

It was that these people were being genuinely nice to him.

Peter was silent for quite some time in shock until he came to his senses, hoping that he didn't blow the rare opportunity to become friends with someone.

"I'm a pretty heavy sleeper." he assured them. "I wouldn't have a problem with their snoring."

The bell rang, signaling that it was time for their next class. Abruptly, Michelle stood up from the table and slung her bag over her shoulder before departing The Great Hall. Seeing that she was in a hurry, Peter tried to keep his gaze on the back of her head, but was unable to when a large group of girls began exiting themselves.

"Where's she going so quickly?" Peter asked, trying his best to sound like the question didn't matter to him.

"I think we might have put her off a bit." Abel observed. "Then again, she's always the first one to get to potions. Professor Slughorn had MJ dubbed as his 'star student' since first year."

The name 'Slughorn' immediately painted a bizarre image in Peter's head. An image of Potions class being taught by a creature resembling Jabba the Hutt, moving around slowly while leaving a slimy trail behind him.

Or was it just common in the Wizarding World to have such eccentric names? Much like everything else he'd come across this morning, he was too afraid to ask. Peter would just have to wait and see if his suspicions were correct.

"Maybe he'd think that highly of us if we showed up early as well." Will added as they approached the Great Hall's exit, joining the mass of students who were struggling to get to their classes. "You know, I think MJ might be onto something."

The setting vividly reminded Peter of using the subway back home (before he got his powers and travel became simple, of course). Everyone was trying to move at the same time, but had no place to go. They all just bumped into one another, and remained backed up.

"Is it always like this?"

"Just at the beginning of the year." Cal answered. "During the first couple months at this school, the new kids always get lost. Barely anyone can get to their class on time without having to get past the first years. It's all right, though. The teachers are pretty understanding."

As the minutes passed, the group of four made very little progress, now standing at the bottom of the staircase and moving slowly.

However, it did give Peter a chance to finally ask his questions. It was Abel who correctly called him out on his silence, and assured him that they would be happy to help.

Apparently, the students who attended Hogwarts were separated into four different houses; Gryffindor - where the brave, but somewhat arrogant and short-tempered dwelled. Hufflepuff - where they all resided, valuing hard work, loyalty, and strong morals. Ravenclaw - highly intelligent, wise, and unashamed of their cleverness.

Michelle's house was without a doubt the one at Hogwarts that gave Peter the most sinister feeling, but his new friends never said anything that would justify that. Peter could tell something was off when they shared a look of worry between them. All the Hufflepuff's cared to share about Slytherin was that they were ambitious, and could rival the intelligence of a Ravenclaw.

As soon as they saw an opening, they began jogging through the halls to what he assumed would be Professor Slughorn's classroom. Peter decided to hang back just far enough to know where he had to turn, his useless arm bouncing against his chest painfully the entire time.

This couldn't have been right. When they came to a stop, a chill ran down Peter's spine. For a while, the school had been growing both colder and darker, dimly lit by fading candles. But none of this made him question their sense of direction until he laid eyes on their current location.

Dungeons.

Will opened the dungeon door with his breath visible in the air, and the entire class looked up from their desks to face them. They were immediately covered by the belly of an old, completely bald man who was dressed in a plaid three-piece suit.

"First years giving you some trouble again, boys?" he smiled through his white, walrus-like mustache. The man who must have been Slughorn didn't give them an opportunity to answer, continuing to speak once he locked eyes with Peter. "Ah! The new boy! It's Mr. Parker, isn't it?"

He only nodded, too nervous to answer verbally with everyone watching him.

"Professor McGonagall told me you would be joining us this morning. And of course, I had Miss Jones here to fill me in on the rest. Now then, please take your seats boys, pull out your books and we can resume the lesson. As I was saying, today we're going to be brewing -"

"Excuse me, sir." Cal interrupted with a raised hand. "Peter hasn't got any books or a cauldron like the rest of us."

"Oh, silly me! You've only just discovered the wizarding world, that's right! Miss Jones made your abilities sound so impressive that it completely slipped my mind! There's no need to worry, m'boy, you can borrow everything you need from the cupboards in the back."

Will, Abel, and Cal took their seats while Peter strode over to the back of the classroom, trying his best to ignore the whispers of his fellow students.

The cupboard was dusty, covered in old webs with a few spiders crawling around the neglected area. He didn't mind them though. Ever since the bite, spiders had acted differently towards him, but Ned's speaking to spider's hypothesis had yet to be confirmed.

Peter pulled out the only book he could find, and it was in terrible condition, the cover on the verge of falling off. The cauldron was nothing to be appreciative of either.

When he had gathered everything else that he thought would be required, Peter took the only free desk next to Michelle, catching the next words of Professor Slughorn.

"- wit-sharpening potion; the most common use being an antidote to the Confundus Charm. You should find the brewing instructions on page sixty-two of your books. All the necessary ingredients have been set up at your stations. Whoever brews the best potions will earn fifty points for his or _her_ house."

The tone of his voice and the glance he gave to Michelle made it obvious that he expected no one else to come close to her.

"Off you go!"

The students scrambled to their stations, setting up their cauldrons with loud clunks echoing throughout the room. Surely this couldn't have been much different from chemistry back home. After all, Peter had successfully developed three versions of web fluid (which were now rendered obsolete by his organic webbing). If all else failed, he just had to follow the instructions.

How hard could it be?

Peter opened the book to page sixty-two, hearing the brittle yellow pages let out a small crack. The potion seemed simple enough, but everyone kept looking over at Michelle in a not-so-subtle way. That being said, he was determined to get this done by himself.

He didn't keep track of time like he did back home, nor did he pay attention to what anyone else was doing. Instead, Peter became lost in his work; cutting, crushing, and mixing his ingredients in a hypnotized state.

Admittedly, Peter may not have followed the instructions exactly. There were little tricks his chemistry teacher had shared with him to improve the making of his web fluid, although he was unaware of what the true purpose was.

It may have been risky to apply 'Muggle' techniques to a magical process, but there was no issue yet.

Having only one usable hand didn't seem to have an impact on him, because when Peter finally looked up from his cauldron for the first time that period, he saw that he was far ahead of everyone; the colours of their potions resembling his from three steps ago.

Michelle too was behind, but catching up. He stifled a laugh when he saw her curly hair that had become incredibly bushy, most likely due to the growing temperature of the room and the cauldrons steaming.

Peter was now on the final step of the potion, running a finger under the line to read it carefully.

_Stir the potion clockwise seven times, then add more ginger root until it turns purple._

For the first time in school, he felt some sort of pride in himself - in a school that taught kids magic of all things... in a dungeon... that was part of a castle... on the other side of the world... completely believable.

"Merlin's beard!" Slughorn cried from behind him, looking over his shoulder at the potion. "It looks remarkable!" He seized the book, turning through the pages rapidly, appearing to be searching for something. "I didn't give someone a noted book again, did I? No - no. Tell me, Peter - it's Peter, isn't it - have you ever worked with potions before?"

"W- well, I - I made some of this." he said nervously, and without thinking, he shot a web from his wrist, hitting the wall that was populated by pickle jars (but they contained anything but pickles). While Slughorn rushed over to examine the material, Peter realized his mistake, trying to save himself with more explanation. "We _do_ have chemistry back home. It's... kind of similar."

Slughorn had a pair of small gold scissors in his hand, holding a portion of the web in his other hand gingerly. He pressed the ends together, the gold met the web, and the scissors broke.

"Remarkable." the professor repeated. "Remarkable! You made this yourself?! And it's coming out of you?! I've never seen anything like it! Sixty points to Hufflepuff!"

Will, Cal, Abel, and the other yellow-tied students looked simply delighted, while the others were either dumbfounded or furious at him. Michelle meanwhile stood still as a statue with no visible happiness or anger on her face.

"My boy, you must tell me all about this _chemistry_! Who knows? You might end up becoming my new _star student_!"

Once those words were uttered, there was no more pride left. Only guilt remained, and Peter didn't dare look over to Michelle, hanging his head in shame. He didn't want to take anything away from her, especially something that probably meant so much to her.

Even when Peter succeeded, he always found a way to screw things up.


	5. Diagon Alley

"Can I ask you a question, Hagrid?"

After the classes had finished for that day, almost all of the Hogwarts students had made their way back to the Great Hall, ready to feast on the meal that awaited them. Peter however was not a part of that group.

Instead, he headed for the entrance to the castle where the giant of a professor was waiting for him, just as they planned earlier that day. Hagrid smiled at him through his bushy beard, asking Peter if Michelle had given him enough Galleons to purchase a wand. Pulling a fistful out of his pocket, he presented them to the man, saying they should be more than enough.

Now, they were on the grounds, walking side by side towards the motorbike, but Peter knew that Hagrid was going slower than he would have liked. Due to the size difference, one step for Hagrid was at least four for him.

"Course you can." he replied cheerfully. "What's on yer mind?"

Hagrid pulled down a pair of goggles as he sat upon the motorbike, and despite its size, the professor was still a giant in comparison. Peter hopped inside the sidecar, securing himself properly but holding onto the edge at the same time. Aunt May would have killed him if she found out he was about to ride in something like this.

"Michelle - no wait! She - she's not _on_ my mind, you know? I mean she's... I think I may have screwed things up with her. Not 'with her' in that way though! I just... she might be mad at me."

It was difficult to tell how Michelle currently felt towards him, especially since she didn't talk to him since potions. But it certainly wasn't for lack of trying (on his end, that is).

Once Professor Slughorn dismissed them, Peter tried to catch up to Michelle and ask if she was doing all right. Cal, Abel, and Will stopped him, saying that the Hufflepuff's had Study of Ancient Runes next (which was taught by a ghost, but that was the last thing Peter concerned himself with at the moment) while she had Arithmancy.

Still, they promised that he would get another chance since they shared the last class together.

Despite this, he failed to get his chance during Herbology, because she was on the completely opposite side of the room. The one positive aspect of the hour was their teacher; Professor Longbottom. Up until that point, he'd only met four professors, but the Herbology expert was the one he believed he would get along with most.

Probably tied with Hagrid. (He would have to wait to decide until he had a class with him. Unlike his teachers back home, Professor Longbottom seemed to actually care about - no, love his subject.)

Anyway, Peter couldn't talk to her after that. She was in the Great Hall, and he was about to go on a motorbike ride to Diagon Alley... wherever that was. He didn't expect to get an opportunity until tomorrow morning.

"Not easy to understand, that Michelle." Hagrid said. "Can't exactly blame you fer not knowin' what's going on in her head."

Before he could continue, his voice was drowned out by the roar of the bike which started once Hagrid stepped on the starter. It revved a couple times until it took off, slowly gaining speed as they headed for the wall of the castle. Peter was sure they were about to crash, trying to warn the driver, going unnoticed.

Clutching onto the sides, Peter closed his eyes, bracing himself for the impact that never came. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes once he heard the roaring engine die down to a soft hum, gasping for air at the sight.

The motorbike was flying! They went right over the school, heading up into the clouds. Clearly - like everything else in the Wizarding World - this bike wasn't normal. He was actually a little disappointed in himself for not expecting something like that.

"Sorry about the noise back there." Hagrid said once they reached a steady altitude. "Anyways, you were sayin' Michelle might be mad at you? What exactly did you do to get on her bad side?"

"Well... it's kind of complicated."

Peter - trying his best to ignore the fact that a freaking motorbike was flying - started to rant about the potions class, going into unnecessary details like the chemistry methods he used and Slughorn's fascination with his webbing until he finally got to the actual point.

"So, earlier today, Abel said that Michelle loved potions, and that she'd been Professor Slughorn's 'star student' since first year. And then he saw what I did with my potion and my webbing, and he asked if I could tell him about it. But then Slughorn said I might end up becoming his new star student... in front of everyone. Believe me, I don't even want to be that! I just don't want to take something this important away from Michelle. I don't want to take away anything."

He tugged at his tie nervously, waiting for his response. Hagrid was clearly deep in thought, trying to process everything that had been said. Through the complete fault of himself, there was quite a lot of information to go over.

"If I was in her position - and this is just me, of course - I'd be more upset with the professor. But I could still understand Michelle if she was mad it you. School means the world to Michelle. Poor thing nearly works herself to death when she's not the best at somethin'. When she ain't, you'd better believe she'll get to the top eventually. It's a bit of an unhealthy obsession if you ask me."

A fourteen year old girl couldn't just become the top student at Hogwarts overnight. It obviously took an insane amount of dedication that Peter wasn't sure he had when it came to his own education. Pairing that logic with the fact that she was a Slytherin - the house was supposedly famous for their ambition - Hagrid's statement came as no surprise to Peter.

"But it's good to hear yer doin' good in potions." Hagrid smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "Tough class, that is. An' Slughorn don't get impressed very easily."

Peter would have felt proud if it didn't mean hurting his new friend. Ever since becoming Spider-Man and his grades started declining, it gave him a bit of a confidence boost to get praised for his academics once more. The feeling faded the moment Slughorn uttered those words.

That being said, he was desperate to get back on her good side. Their friendship may have been less than twenty-four hours old, but when someone was showing a genuine interest in him for the first time in years, that made it all the more important to save.

Peter had his fair share of arguments with Ned, but they were easily resolved. They could say something out of line at one moment, and act like nothing happened the next moment. The relationship they had wasn't complicated at all because they understood each other.

Girls were different.

Peter never had a friend who was a girl. Come to think of it, Michelle was the first girl in years to willingly talk to him. Luckily, he had an Aunt May to give him all sorts of advice on situations like this. Her most used line was 'if you ever want to do something nice for a girl, give her flowers.'

All these years, and he never questioned it. Tonight, he would get the chance to test the theory. But was Michelle the type of girl who would actually _like_ flowers? So far, the only thing he knew she liked was books. Were they interchangeable in this case?

As the journey went on, Peter settled into his place, growing tired and cold. Hagrid noticed him shivering, and offered his overcoat to keep him warm. Before Peter could refuse, the giant coat was draped over him, and he was immediately started to thaw.

"I remember the last time I took someone to Diagon Alley." Hagrid thought out loud. "One of the best days of me life, I reckon. I'd known the boy since he was a wee baby. Even brought him to his aunt and uncle on this here motorbike. Terrible people they were, but it was the only place he could go. I didn't see him again 'till he turned eleven. I was finally able to get him to a real home. Best friend I ever had."

The story sounded vaguely familiar. A boy who's (probably) an orphan goes to live with his aunt and uncle. But they didn't sound as nice as Aunt May and Uncle Ben were. Peter wanted to ask if he was all right, but he didn't wish to strike a nerve with Hagrid. It seemed insensitive to ask.

"Does he still go to Hogwarts?" he asked instead.

"Nah, Harry hasn't been a student for a long time. Merlin, it's been sixteen years already? Sometimes I forget how quickly time flies. He still visits us. Myself an' Professor Longbottom have dinner with him and his family once a month too."

Peter let out a sigh of relief. At least the story had a happy ending to it. Connecting the dots, he assumed that the Harry mentioned was the same who currently owned the motorbike.

An hour or so later, he saw a light in the distance, growing larger and brighter with every passing second. As they reduced their altitude, Peter realized that it was a city. Noticing a few distinct features such as the bridge, the clock tower, and a large Ferris wheel, it became more obvious where in the world they were.

"London." he breathed out, leaning forward to look down on the landscape. Aunt May and Uncle Ben had always planned on coming here one day. If they were lucky enough to earn enough money, that is. His mother figure hadn't talked about the potential trip since... then.

"Hang on, Peter." Hagrid pulled a lever, and the descent turned rapid. If it wasn't for the small seatbelt, Peter was sure he would have fallen out.

The motorbike touched the street with a thud, speeding against the flow of traffic. None of the vehicles honked at them, and Hagrid was navigating past them with ease.

"What if people saw us flying?!" Peter tried to be heard over all the noise.

"Muggles don' see nothin', do they?!" his voice boomed. "They don' even listen properly! Besides, most of 'em wouldn' believe it if they saw somethin'! Muggles don' wanna see nothin'!"

Hagrid came to a sudden stop, parking on half of the sidewalk. Although he had clearly been to London before and used the bike many times, Peter wasn't sure how much he knew about the customs of Muggle transportation. Could they be seen now that they were stationary?

"Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron."

Peter looked to the nearest building to see a sign materialize right before them that read _'The Leaky Cauldron'._ People - probably Muggles - walked past it as if it didn't really exist. If Hagrid hadn't said something, Peter probably would have done the same. It was sort of a 'blink and you'll miss it' type of thing.

After helping him out of the sidecar, the giant pushed open the black door and led him inside.

He was under the impression that they were going to Diagon Alley, but this couldn't be right. Taking in his surroundings - specifically the occupants drinking and the cheery music in the background - Peter was certain the Leaky Cauldron was a bar of some kind.

Still, Hagrid hadn't given him a reason to not trust him yet.

Navigating through the room (after his guide gave quick hello's to everyone he passed), Hagrid and Peter stepped outside of the bar into a small courtyard that was barely big enough for the two of them. They were just standing in front of a brick wall - clearly a dead end.

"Hagrid?" he questioned.

Peter didn't get a chance to ask. He fell silent as the man pulled out a pink umbrella, muttering a quick sentence to himself before tapping a few select bricks three times.

He must have hit it hard, because the wall started to rumble; a small hole appearing in the center that just grew wider with every passing second. Peter blinked, and they now stood in front of an arch, revealing a street that was covered in cobblestones.

Reaching out in amazement, his hand went through the arch to make sure what he saw actually occurred.

"That was awesome." he looked up at Hagrid with a smile, and the giant turned red, patting him on the shoulder.

"This here's Diagon Alley." Hagrid led him out onto the street. "Anything a wizard or witch needs can be found here. You've got yer restaurants, shops for robes, broomsticks, and what yer here for; wands. Gringotts Wizarding Bank is probably the oldest building here. Then there's the younger places like Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes: best joke shop in the whole wizarding world."

There really was everything. Peter couldn't look in a single direction without seeing somethin new. Owls could be seen sleeping through the shop window. He overheard a witch trying to sell a dragon liver and a toe of all things. The most normal thing there were telescopes, and even those made the Muggle version seem inferior.

They came to a stop in front of a shop that seemed old at first glance. Despite the fact it was probably in the same place for decades, it looked like it was built very recently. Maybe rebuilt. Peter squinted, trying to read the gold letters of the door in the growing darkness.

_Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC._

"I'll be across the alley picking up the Fluxweed. I should be done about the same time as you. Good luck, Peter."

As he opened the door, a small bell rang from someplace deep within the shop. From what he could see, no one else was in here. If they were, it wouldn't exactly be hard to spot them. The place was tiny and cramped, most of the area being taken up by shelves. It somewhat reminded him of the library back at Midtown, except dustier.

"Good evening." a soft voice greeted him, coughing.

A very old man came out from behind one of the shelves, walking towards Peter, legs trembling with each step he took. The paleness of his skin made him wonder how often he left the shop, and his eyes and hair weren't far off in colour.

Peter hurried around the counter to offer him some help, but he shrugged him off with a smile, saying "You're very kind to offer, but I've still got some steps left in this body."

He coughed again, directing Peter to stand by the counter as he retrieved a tape measure, holding it to his left arm and taking down a great deal of information. Was this a regular process when it came to obtaining a magic wand?

"Normally, I would ask a child what their wand arm was. But given your..." the man who must have been Ollivander gestured to his sling. "let's call it an unfortunate situation - I'll have to do my best with what you have, Mr. Parker."

"You know my name?"

"Why, of course! I know every witch or wizard who sets foot into my shop. And you're here to find out if you really are a wizard." Mr. Ollivander wasn't asking questions, but stating what they apparently both knew. "I'm hoping to get this on the first try." he said, retreating back into the shelves. "There's something very... distinct... inside you. I believe I know the core that would be perfect for you."

Ollivander returned with a long box in his wrinkled hand. Removing the top, he revealed a wand sort of like Michelle's, but longer and made out of a different wood. The grip was a dark brown, and slightly disfigured - perhaps bumpy but only on the end. As it grew longer, it became smooth, leading up to the body.

Peter thought back to the carvings in Michelle's wand and the green of her eyes woven into the body. This wand had white wrapped around it, glowing under the light.

"Fourteen and a quarter inches." Ollivander presented it to him, taking it out of the box. "Made out of ash with a rather curious core. It was given life from the web of an acromantula. They used to be illegal in this country, but maybe it's finally found an owner worthy of itself."

Taking the wand, Peter felt a warmth in his fingers, travelling up his arm and spreading through his entire body. Never had he experience something like this before. He twirled it a couple of times in his hand, getting used to the weight. It felt natural resting between his fingers.

"Give it a wave." the shop owner commanded.

He followed his instruction, raising it for a quick moment and bringing it back down. Red and blue sparks came from the end, hovering over his head then disappearing.

"Brilliant!" Ollivander exclaimed, tapping his hands together lightly in celebration. "A perfect match if I'd ever seen one!"

"What... what does that mean, sir?"

"Well, what do you think it means?" He waited for Peter to answer, but when he failed to, he did it himself. "It means you're as much of a wizard as anyone else at Hogwarts! There isn't any other explanation! You have magic in your blood, my boy!"

His own wand. Just like anyone else at Hogwarts. Peter could hardly contain his excitement. He pulled out the seven Gold Galleons from his pocket and handed them to Mr. Ollivander, thanking him quickly and running back out into the alley where Hagrid was waiting for him.

***

Peter and Hagrid stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron's entrance, and he looked back on the place that had given him new meaning. Something off to the side caught his eye; something he didn't notice the first time. The Leaky Cauldron was resting between an old record store, and most importantly a massive book store.

While he didn't have any money - on his person or otherwise - a small sign in the window gave him a spec of hope. A great number of books had failed to sell, and they were giving them away for no price.

In life, Peter received more than his fair share of bad luck, but now, things seemed to be turning around.

"Hagrid." he tugged on his overcoat, grabbing his attention. "Could we check this out for just a second?"

***

When Peter and Hagrid returned to Hogwarts, the halls were just as empty as they were when he woke up. He caught a few glances of students heading back to their common rooms, but other than that, Peter was alone.

Hagrid had been kind enough to give him the directions to the Hufflepuff common room where he'd be sleeping for the next week, and the way to get inside: Go up to the stack barrels outside the kitchen, tap the barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row, in the rhythm of ‘Helga Hufflepuff’.

That wasn't his goal yet. With a little more Non-Parker luck - which hopefully hadn't run out yet - Michelle would still be heading back to her own common room.

The only people he could ask were the ghosts, and of the two he encountered, only one was helpful. The mischievous poltergeist who called himself Peeves tried to dump flour on Peter, and if it wasn't for his reflexes, he would have succeeded.

Sir Nicholas said that Michelle was always leaving the library at this time of the night. After explaining the situation to him and showing him the book, the ghost led him through the castle, showing him all sorts of shortcuts to get to the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

Coming out through the wall, he saw her heading in his direction. This was his chance.

Michelle saw him too; a bored expression on her face.

"Students are supposed to be in their dorms right now." she said as they approached one another.

Feeling a little more confident than he should have, Peter smirked at her.

"And yet, here we are. But I won't tell anyone if you won't."

A smile tugged at her face, but she was able to resist. By all accounts, things weren't as bad as he anticipated. Michelle was at least talking to him now that they weren't separated.

"How was the trip?" she asked, pushing her curly hair out of her eyes.

"Hmm? Oh, right, I got a wand." he responded, not treating it as the big deal it probably was. Peter was just eager to give Michelle the book. "I also got you this." Nervously, he pulled the book out from behind his back, holding it out to her. "It's about the Black Dahlia murder. It's famous in the Muggle world."

Now that he said it out loud, it didn't seem as good of an idea as he thought a few moments ago. Michelle took it from his hands, examining the cover with the photo of the flower of the same name.

Michelle was silent, opening to the first page, beginning to read to herself.

"Thank you."

And with that, she entered the Slytherin common room, eyes glued to the book the entire time.


	6. The Pensieve

When Peter returned to the Hufflepuff common room, he found Will, Abel, and Cal all sound asleep. True to the warning, the snoring made it impossible for Peter to catch any winks that night, but that didn't bother him in the slightest.

Instead of going to sleep, Peter started turning through his books, finding a Wand-Lighting charm that allowed him to read quietly underneath the covers of his four-poster bed. Not only did he want to catch up with the rest of his class, but Peter also found that he was enjoying learning about magic more than any of his classes back home.

Why would someone want to write down algebra equations endlessly when they could read about the Witch-Burning in the fourteenth century? Apparently, the consensus in the Wizarding World was that it was _completely useless_ to quote his textbook. On the rare occasion that Muggles _did_ catch a witch or wizard, they would simply cast a Fire-Freezing charm.

Looking past the fates of the innocent, Peter couldn't help but find it quite entertaining.

When morning arrived, and the sunlight came through the windows to illuminate the dormitory, Peter muttered the Wand-Extinguishing Charm "nox" and placed his pile of books back down on the floor. The only subject he didn't touch was Potions, as he was perfectly confident in his abilities, and he didn't expect to have much trouble with Slughorn praising him.

"Good morning, Mr. Parker." a voice said beside him. Peter nearly fell out of his bed when he saw it was a painting hanging on the wall who was talking to him. Until he remembered that it was a natural occurrence in Hogwarts for pictures to move on their own, he panicked. "Are you alright? I hope I didn't startle you."

"Of course not." he said as nonchalantly as possible, although he was panicking slightly on the inside.

"I'm glad to hear it." the 2-dimensional man smiled kindly, his bright blue eyes sparkling behind half-moon spectacles. "Professor McGonagall sent me from her office to fetch you. She would like to have a word with you before your first class of the day."

'Is it normal to get called to the principal's office this often?' Peter thought to himself. 'Well, I've only been called twice, but it's my second day!'

"I assure you that you aren't in any trouble." he seemed to notice the nervousness growing on Peter's face. "I trust you remember your way, and the password, but should you require any assistance, simply consult the nearest portrait."

And with that, the man disappeared from the frame, heading off to another destination.

Not wanting to keep Professor McGonagall waiting, Peter immediately sprang to his feet and began putting on his school uniform. As he remembered, it was against the rules to roam the halls without wearing it.

At that moment, he once again wished that Michelle was with him. Getting dressed with one arm was proving to be increasingly difficult. Getting out of his clothes was the easy part yesterday, but without her knowledge, he couldn't perform the task as quickly as she did.

Peter only managed to do up a few of his buttons and failed to tuck in his shirt. Worse off, his tie just barely made it under his collar. Still, it could have been worse. No scenarios came to mind, but it would have to do.

After exiting the common room, Peter proceeded through deserted corridors, though he had to jump up hastily and stick to the ceiling quietly when Peeves appeared around a corner, dragging a massive chandelier behind him, singing mischievously to himself.

The pain returned to Peter's legs as he remained motionless, waiting for the poltergeist to pass by. His muscles gave out just as Peeves entered the kitchen, closing the large wooden door behind him. Not as gracefully as he would have liked, he returned to the ground, resuming his travel to the office of the Headmistress.

Hurrying off again until he reached the spot in the seventh-floor corridor where a single gargoyle stood against the wall, he made sure to stand in the exact spot Michelle did yesterday, clearly shouting "Animagi."

The gargoyle leapt aside; the wall behind it slid apart, and a moving spiral stone staircase was revealed, which Peter stepped onto. He was carried in smooth circles up to the door with the brass knocker that led to McGonagall’s Office. Before he could knock, it opened by itself, but his new teacher was not on the other side.

That didn't mean he was alone.

Standing on her desk was a silver tabby cat that appeared to be reading the papers it was sitting on. The cat looked up at him briefly, then back down again.

Next to the animal was a shallow stone basin lay there, with odd carvings around the edge: runes and strange symbols that Peter couldn't decipher. There silvery light was coming from the basin’s contents, which could have been a liquid or a gas as he heard it flowing. From his current angle, it wasn't possible to see anything else.

Probably just some magic water dish for McGonagall's pet cat.

"Can I come in?" Peter asked jokingly to the only other occupant of the office, making his way over to the chairs and sitting down.

In the blink of an eye, the cat leaped forward, transforming into Professor McGonagall in midair. She was staring down at him sternly, his mouth agape. After seeing ghosts, moving paintings, flying motorbikes and magic wands, a woman turning into an animal was by far the coolest thing he'd witnessed.

"Yes, you may." she said, walking around the desk to sit across from him. "Hagrid told me you had a rather enjoyable trip to Diagon Alley last night. And I must congratulate you on obtaining your wand. As soon as I heard the news, I sent Dumbledore to your dormitory."

Peter kept glancing between the Headmistress and the basin, noticing a bright, whitish silver substance moving ceaselessly.

"You have been wondering, I am sure, what I called you here for?"

He nodded.

"The object you're so interested in is called a Pensieve. To put it simply, it shall be our method of transportation as we take a trip down memory lane - your memory to be specific." She pulled out her wand from her robes, coming to Peter's side. "I have my suspicions regarding your magical abilities, but I want to be sure. With your permission, I would like to extract a memory from you. I would like you to think about the day you became Spider-Man."

"A - and how do I do that?" Peter asked nervously.

"You simply think about it, open your mind, and I shall do the rest."

Peter closed his eyes to concentrate, and seconds later, the tip of McGonagall's wand made contact with the side of his head, and a glowing spec was removed, then placed delicately into the Pensieve. She gestured to the substance, and Peter felt the sudden urge to touch the fluid.

The closer he got, the more it looked like glass, and he realized that he wasn't looking at the bottom of the basin. From a bird's-eye view, Peter saw a lab full of people, a place he set foot in eight months ago.

Once his nose touched the glass, he felt his feet leave the floor of the office. Now, he was falling freely through a whirling darkness and then, quite suddenly, he is feet touched the spotless lab floor. Just as his eyes had adjusted, McGonagall landed beside him.

"The field trip." Peter said aloud, his voice echoing throughout the entire area. " _The_ field trip!" he realized, gazing at the Oscorp Industries logo just above them.

McGonagall on the other hand had her attention turned to a large group of students who were gathered around a yellow-toothed man in a green and purple suit. Norman Osborn - appearing before them exactly as he had that day. Tall, thin, and sickly with a disingenuous smile on his face and his eyebrows permanently formed into a scowl.

"Are we really back here?!" he asked desperately, to which she confirmed. "Then that means I can stop it! Then Uncle Ben can -" Peter reached out to navigate through the crowd, but his hand passed right through the shoulder of the student. Again, he tried the same, but failed.

"It is only a memory, Parker." McGonagall told him. "We are not really here, so there is nothing you can change. But if you wish to know where you are, I believe I can help you with that."

As the group moved, a short, pale boy with messy hair stayed behind, aiming his camera at the display. Peter - the other Peter - was also wearing his glasses as he did now, except he would have been rendered blind without them back then.

"You were a scrawny little thing, weren't you?"

His clothes didn't help his appearance much either. Peter had always been short and skinny for his age, and he looked even more tiny than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes about four times his actual size. That was all Aunt May and Uncle Ben could afford from him. He was told he would grow into them eventually, and it saved them plenty of money to make a one-time purchase.

It did _not_ help his status at school. Even some of the teachers looked down on him for this.

As the younger Peter attempted to take the picture, a hand smacked him on the back of his head, knocking him over and falling flat onto his face. The camera was intact, but the left lens of his glasses had popped out, and Eugene 'Flash' Thompson and his gang were standing over him, laughing.

It was Flash's favourite time when he could catch him off guard. Peter couldn't run away then, and back then there was no way he could stand a chance five against one.

Groaning, trying to find his lens, he saw a blur reach down to the ground and pick up his glasses. Peter now came face-to-face with Ned, who was smiling down on him sympathetically. He helped him to his feet, keeping a distance between themselves and Flash as they returned to Mr. Osborn's lecture.

_"- fifteen genetically engineered spiders," he pointed to a large glass case full of red and blue arachnids. "which we believe can be used as a method of replicating Dr. Erskine's experiment. Of course, we're not only focused on increasing a man's agility and strength. If we have success, the subjects could gain and adhesive affect similar to that of a spider, and reflexes so advanced that they could be interpreted as precognitive."_

But there were only fourteen in there.

Somehow, one of them managed to escape, and it went unnoticed by everyone in the building. At this point in the memory, the spider was descending from the ceiling on its web, heading towards the younger Peter's hand.

He just wanted the memory to be over. This wasn't just the point where he obtained his powers, but it marked the day everything started going wrong for him.

Peter's life was nothing special before. He was the punching bag of the school, and his family had been struggling financially for years, but he had good grades, and an aunt and uncle who loved him. If that spider never bit him, he wouldn't have lost everything.

_"Not only should it add the subject these extraordinary abilities. but it amplifies everything that is already there. The good can become great, and the great can become the best."_

McGonagall adjusted her square glasses, turning to Peter.

"I think I understand now." she began, but he was barely listening to her. "I had Professor Binns look into your family tree, and it turns out you have a very distance Wizard ancestor on your mother's side. Apparently, they married a Muggle woman, and had a child who did not possess any magical ability. If what this man says is true, then your magic was greatly increased eight months ago. It was always there, but not enough to be detected."

As the spider sunk its fangs into Peter's hand, and he let out a muffled cry. After swatting it to the ground, bringing his worn-out shoe down onto the floor to kill it, he expected the memory to be over.

It wasn't.

Their surroundings evaporated into smoke, and they were once again enveloped in darkness. Even Professor McGonagall didn't know what was going on right now, but Peter did.

This was the day he really became Spider-Man.

_Peter had him cornered in the alley. With his fists clenched, he slowly walked towards the trembling criminal who was holding up his knife defensively. His back touched the wall, begging to be given a chance, but Peter didn't stop._

_"Did you give him and chance?!" he sobbed as his fist made contact, knocking out the man's golden tooth and sending him into the pile of crates. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth, joining the puddle below him that had grown with the rain. He turned around weakly, getting back on his feet, trying to run._

_Peter was too fast for him._

_In a split second, he grabbed him by the neck, punching him in the ribcage which caused a few cracks to be heard over the storm, and once more in the face. He started swinging aimlessly, beating him mercilessly._

_"Please!" the criminal cried. "Stop! Stop!"_

_He fell down to the ground again, trying to crawl away._

_Peter grabbed him by the mask, smashing his face against the ground. He flipped him over to his back, and his hands found their way around his neck._

_"Stop..." he croaked, trying to break free from the grip, but was unsuccessful. "please..."_

_"You killed him! And for what?! His fucking car?!"_

_"Help! Someone help me!"_

_This man couldn't be given a chance. He took Ben's life without a single regret, and left him lying on the sidewalk to die. There was nothing Peter could do to him that would cause the same kind of pain he had. There was nothing he could take away that meant as much as Uncle Ben._

_But he could come close._

_Peter wanted to watch him die. He wanted to see his face as he watched the light go out from behind his eyes._

_In one swift motion, he ripped away his mask, locking eyes with the man who murdered his father - the man who robbed the manager - the man Peter let go without hesitation._

_Finally, he stopped, and released him._

_"It was my fault..." Peter pulled off his own mask, tears running down his cheeks, joining the raindrops on the ground._

_He was really going to kill him. What would have Uncle Ben thought if he was still alive? How could he try to make a man pay for a crime that was really his responsibility?_

Peter and McGonagall watched in silence as the younger Peter attempted to dry his eyes. As the sound of sirens in the distance grew louder, he felt something tug at his arm. The next moment, they were both soaring weightlessly through darkness, until they landed squarely on their feet, back in the office.

It was as if the wounds made eight months ago had been ripped open, and pain tugged at Peter's chest. He felt his heart pounding fiercely, the exact same way it did when he faced Uncle Ben's killer.

"Peter..." she said in a quiet voice, far from her usual stern tone.

Peter knew McGonagall had no intention of making him relive the worst moment of his life. There was no way she could have known what really happened, but even with that knowledge, he still didn't want to talk to her. He didn't want to talk to anyone.

"Can I go now, Professor?" he asked, looking down at the ground, seeing her nod slowly from the corner of his eye.

He couldn't have left the office fast enough. Now, Peter did have any idea of what direction he was to go in. Originally, he'd planned to join the rest of the students in the Great Hall for breakfast, but at the moment, he didn't have much of an appetite. Not even paying a visit to Hagrid and his light-hearted personality could have helped things.

What did he do last time to fix his mood?

For starters, there was Aunt May who needed to be taken care of. Peter had very little time to focus on his grief, because every time he looked at his aunt, it was replaced with guilt. He still was. Then he started patrolling the neighbourhoods in search of criminals, which was also a nice distraction.

None of that could be done at Hogwarts.

At the current state of things, Peter would have even taken a good yelling from his boss; J. Jonah Jameson. _"Get me more photos of that menace, Spider-Man!"_

To put it simply, he needed a purpose. He needed to help someone, otherwise he would have been dishonouring the memory of Benjamin Parker.

"Oi!" he heard someone exclaim from the grounds. Peter ran towards the nearest exit, blinded by the sunlight briefly as he opened the door.

On the grass was Professor Longbottom, wrestling with a skeletal black horse. At least it was close to a horse. Their head resembled that of a dragon, having pupil-less eyes white that didn't blink, and it possessed giant bat-like wings. Peter saw the both the creature - whatever it was called - and the Herbology professor were fighting over a bloody piece of meat.

Peter rushed over towards them, grabbing ahold of Professor Longbottom to help him overpower the horse-like being. Finally, it let go, and both boys fell back onto the ground.

"Thanks." Longbottom said, getting up and brushing himself off and helping Peter to his feet as well. "Bloody Thestral nearly ruined my class for the day."

What a professor of Herbology was doing with a rotting piece of meat was none of Peter's business, but if he had to guess, it was probably food for some kind of carnivorous plant.

"Is that thing dangerous?"

"No, they're actually quite gentle. But when they get a whiff of blood," he held up the meat. "they start to think with their stomach. Thestrals get a bit of a bad reputation because they look a little..."

"Different." Peter finished for him, watching the grim-looking animal walk back towards the forest.

Longbottom looked down at him, a sorrowful expression appearing on his face.

"So, you can see them?"

"Well... yeah. Am I not supposed to?"

He had felt its breath on his arms, and the resistance it put up to letting go of its food, so it was certainly real enough. But deep down, Peter was questioning his sanity.

"No - no!" Longbottom answered quickly. "It's just... Thestrals can only be seen by people who have seen death."

 _"Oh."_ Peter hesitated. "So, you've also lost..."

"Yeah... I wasn't much older than yourself when I first saw my first Thestral."

"Really?" he asked, his interest piqued. "How did you - you know - deal with it? How can _I_ learn how to deal with it?"

Professor Longbottom started heading for the door, holding it open and gesturing Peter to follow him inside. He joined him immediately, walking down the empty corridors with the Herbology expert. He was silent for a little while, choosing his words carefully before he responded.

"Friends help. A lot of the time we wouldn't talk about what happened, but being with people you like - people who make you happy - it's probably the best thing you can do. You've got people like that back home, don't you, Peter?"

"Not as many as I used to."

They came to a stop in front of the Great Hall, and Neville glanced over to the tables crowded with children his age.

"Maybe it's time you find some more." He gave him a brief pat on the back before departing. Peter was left alone, but if he followed the advice, maybe he didn't have to be by himself for much longer.


	7. Predictions

When Peter entered the Great Hall to join the rest of the Hufflepuff's for breakfast, the first thing he saw was a crowd of students heading towards him - most of them younger, but a few his age and a couple older. In seconds, Peter was surrounded, unable to make heads or tails of the questions being thrown at him.

'Spider-Man' was the only word he could understand.

Breaking free, finally able to hear himself think, Peter dropped into a seat at the Hufflepuff table, joining the group of Cal, Abel, and Will.

"There he is!" Abel said brightly.

"Did you guys tell everyone about my..." he ran a hand through his hair, looking behind him to see that the people were still staring at him. "you know, that I'm... Spider-Man."

It felt strange to say it out loud. Every time he talked about his 'superhero career' with Ned, they referred to it as his internship.

"We can't take all the credit." Will smiled. "Really, we couldn't have done it without the Muggle-Born students; they're the ones who've heard of you. Were you ever planning on telling us you're famous?"

Peter began to blush, turning a shade of red that could have been mistaken for his suit, and looked down at his lap. Did these people really want to know more about him?

"I - I'm not famous." he stammered. "Infamous, maybe."

Will shrugged, and said "That's basically the same thing. But what are you saying? People don't like you back home?"

That was easily the understatement of the year, and a fact J. Jonah Jameson was very proud of (after all, he proclaimed it on a daily basis). Every time Peter stopped a criminal, Jameson had Eddie write an article on what he could have done better. His favourite argument was 'in a world of superheroes, why is he the one freak that's hiding his identity?!'

Worse off, the only way Peter and Aunt May managed to stay in their apartment was selling photos of Spider-Man to Jameson, which he then used to ~~slander~~ libel him.

It was getting difficult to keep count of how many people shouted and cursed at him on the streets.

"Well, it - it's complicated."

Getting through breakfast was a bit of a burden. Every five seconds, there was someone coming up to them with a question, and Peter noticed a pattern.

Ravenclaw students were clearly more fascinated with the origins of his powers, and their functions. They kept encouraging him to stick things to his hands, and even made lists on what worked and what didn't (a non-existent list since everything stuck). Peter picked up the goblets, forks, knives, plates, and even a cat that morning.

Gryffindor's on the other hand were exhausting.

Peter's injuries preventing him from performing at his best, but that didn't stop the house from making him do backflips off of the table or perform ridiculous feats of strength.

Showing off was something he never did, however, his fellow students seemed to be enjoying the display.

"Peter Parker?" another voice asked as he finally returned to breakfast.

His stomach rumbling, he turned to face the source of the voice. A tall boy with bright blue hair and a prefect badge was holding a piece of paper out to him, a smirk on his face.

"That's me."

"Nice to meet you." he extended his hand, but dropped it once he saw that Peter's arm was in a sling. "I'm Teddy, one of the Hufflepuff prefects. Professor McGonagall asked me to give you your schedule. Good luck on your first week."

Peter took it out of his hand, said a quick 'thank you', and began to read as Teddy departed.

"Divination, nine o'clock. Like, crystal balls, palm-reading, predicting the future, all that stuff?"

They all nodded.

It seemed a little weird from his perspective, but if they taught it at Hogwarts, how weird could it be?

'And astrology." Cal added.

There's the weirdness, Peter thought. How could people believe that the time of year you were born in _somehow_ had an affect on your personality? Magic could do a lot of things; he was sure of that, but something had to give.

"We'd better get going." Abel said as the Great Hall started to empty. "It takes at least ten minutes to get to the top of the North Tower, and I don't want to end up late again."

***

Peter and the others climbed the last few steps and emerged onto a small landing, where only a few members of the class had already assembled - including Michelle, who was reading the book he'd given her. There were no doors off the landing, but Will noticed his confusion and nudged Peter with his elbow, pointing to the ceiling where there was a circular trapdoor with a brass plaque on it.

_"Sybill Trelawney, Divination teacher."_ Peter read curiously. "How are we supposed to get up there?"

As though in answer to his question, the trapdoor opened without warning, a silvery ladder descending from the ceiling and stopping right at Peter’s feet. He fell silent, amazed, but the lack of reaction from the others made him realize it was normal.

After waiting for everyone else to go up, it was Peter's turn to enter. He slowly climbed the ladder and emerged into the strangest-looking classroom he had ever seen.

Actually, calling it a classroom would have been laughable. It looked more like a cross between the old tea shop across the street, and the strange woman's apartment across the hall.

At least twenty small, round tables were jammed inside it, all surrounded by gigantic armchairs with pillows on them. Everything was lit with a dim with a strong, red-coloured light. The curtains were all closed as well as the windows, making the only source of light many odd lamps.

It was painfully hot up there, probably because of the fire that was burning under a mantelpiece. There was foul-smelling perfume in the air, making his eyes water.

Predictably, the shelves running around the circular walls were populated by crystal balls, playing cards, feathers, and melted candles.

Peter saw the three were sitting at one table with no more seats available, but Michelle - as usual - was alone. He smiled to himself, taking the free seat next to her. She didn't object, which was good enough for him.

Where on earth was this _Professor Trelawney?_

Suddenly, a very soft, misty voice came out of the shadows.

"Welcome, Mr. Parker." they spoke directly to him. "How nice to see you in the physical world at last."

A woman moved into the light. She was very thin; her large glasses magnifying her eyes to several times their normal size. Her greying hair fell down to the thin, nearly transparent shawl draped around her shoulders. Around her spindly neck were a countless number of chains and bead necklaces, and her arms and hands were covered with bracelets and rings.

This, Peter assumed, must have been their Divination Professor.

At these words, Michelle, Will, Abel, and Cal glanced at him, then back at Trelawney.

Peter was beginning to further doubt this class. No matter what this professor believed, he was certain that they had never met before. Trelawney, however, didn't act as such. Her face was now inches from his, the smell of sherry on her breath.

The fact that she knew his last name didn't mean anything to him. Every teacher in the school knew who he was at this point, so there was no reason to believe she was any different.

"Are you the one I have been waiting for, boy?"

"Sure." he shrugged. "Whatever floats your boat, I guess."

She looked very insulted, shaking her head in disappointment as she readjusted her shawl.

"Many witches and wizards have come into my classroom over the years, boy. Talented though they were with their wands, very few were able to penetrate the veiled mysteries of the future, let alone appreciate the divine and noble art that is Divination. It is a gift granted to a scarce number of magical beings. It seems that you are most common, Boy of Spiders."

Close enough.

Over the years, Peter learned it wasn't worth arguing with teachers. The crazier they were, the more time became wasted in class. It seemed Professor Trelawney was as nutty as a fruitcake.

Finally, she left him alone, seating herself in a winged armchair in front of the fireplace. Trelawney closed her eyes, relaxing back in the chair and taking a cup of tea into her hands.

"What a wonderful day it is to see you back in my classroom, children." Her enormous eyes moved from face to face, landing on a nervous-looking Ravenclaw girl who Peter recognized from lunch yesterday. "Amelia!" she exclaimed, causing the girl to jump. "A glass was knocked over in front of you this morning, yes?"

Amelia looked at Cal for a moment as if blaming him, then nodded worriedly.

"Oh, what a shame." Professor Trelawney said, shaking her head sadly, the firelight reflecting off of her long emerald earrings. "I was afraid this would happen. My dear, I'm sorry to say that there are very difficult times ahead for you. The thing you are dreading will soon come to pass; even sooner than I previously anticipated."

Peter's head shot up, gazing around the boiling room. They really couldn't be taking this prediction seriously. Hell, it was _barely_ a prediction. Bad things could have happened to anyone, anytime. Just because Trelawney said it would happen didn't mean she would be correct.

"As you should recall from last week," Professor Trelawney went on, "we will be working with our tea cups today. Some of you were dreadful the previous school year; now, I am offering you a second chance. Now, textbooks out! Textbooks out! Use them while you can, children, for you will not get the opportunity in a few months."

A very rigid silence followed this prediction, but Professor Trelawney seemed purposefully unaware of it.

"Now, I want you all to collect a teacup from the shelf, then come to me, and I shall fill it. You must sit down and drink until only the dregs remain. Swill these around the cup three times with the left hand, then turn the cup upside down on its saucer, wait for the last of the tea to drain away, then give your cup to your partner to read. If you are sitting at a table with three, you will alternate accordingly. You will interpret the patterns to the best of your... _abilities._ Good luck, children."

Peter fetched a cup, ignoring the professor's worrisome gaze as she filled it up to the brim. Michelle soon returned with him to the round table, draining their cups slowly.

"Thank you for the book." she said quietly, taking a sip.

"It's no big deal." Peter's brows furrowed as the warm liquid flowed down his throat. So far, food made by magic-users was some of the best he'd ever had; which made it all the more confusing to taste such disgusting tea. He set the cup down, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"Is the tea a little too grotty for your liking, Boy of Spiders?" Michelle stifled a laugh, using her cup to cover up her smile.

"Is that a name that's going to stick?"

"Probably."

Peter managed to finish his tea eventually, although at a much slower rate than Michelle.

"Right," she said as they swapped cups and opened their textbooks to the proper pages. "What do you see in mine"

"I hate to break this to you," Peter said, the heat of the room and the smell of the perfume making him feel dizzy. "but I think your cup has diarrhea." He held it up, revealing a load of soggy brown stuff splattered at the bottom.

Michelle burst into laughter, failing to pull herself together even when Trelawney passed their round table.

"You must uncloud your minds, my dears, if you are to utilize your Inner Eye!" Professor Trelawney cried out, poking Peter in the middle of his forehead. "Tell me what lies in Miss Jones' future!"

This was easily the most ridiculous thing Peter had ever done.

"How can I see with you poking my Inner Eye?" Trelawney shot him another look, and Peter conceded. "Okay then..." he gazed into the cup, squinting and tilting his cup, hoping to make something of it. "yup, it's a blob. Michelle, you've got a big mess in your future - sorry about that."

Professor Trelawney didn't seem impressed by his observation.

"Let me see that, my dear," she said disapprovingly to Peter, sweeping over and snatching Michelle’s cup from his hand.

Professor Trelawney was staring into the teacup, rotating it curiously.

"My boy, you could not have been more incorrect. Michelle, you will be selected as Hogwarts Champion for the Triwizard Tournament, and die in the third and final task. A terrible thing, really."

"Seems like a pretty big mess to me." Michelle said with fake disappointment, unconvinced of Professor Trelawney's prediction. "What about Peter's cup?"

She handed it to the professor, grinning. Everyone in the class was now staring at their table and Professor Trelawney. The second she looked into the cup; Trelawney screamed in terror. Glass shattered on the floor, echoing throughout the entire classroom.

"Oh, no." her voice trembled over and over again. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no. My dear Boy of Spiders - my poor dear boy..." she cupped his face sadly for a moment, then retreated back to her chair by the fireplace.

"Well, if Michelle's going to die, I'd hate to see what I had." Peter joked.

"My dear," Professor Trelawney’s huge eyes opened dramatically, "you will have a life full of nothing except pain and suffering. You are cursed to bring death to everyone close to you."

He could tell that he was the only one who wasn't taking her prediction seriously; everybody else had gone quiet, appearing just as sorry as the professor.

"I don't have that many people in my life."

"And why do you think that is?! First your mother and father, and then your uncle! It won't be long until your Aunt May is taken from you as well!"

Peter’s stomach lurched. The only professor in the school who had known about Uncle Ben was Professor McGonagall - and to a certain degree, Professor Longbottom - and they had only found out that same morning. Trelawney made a point that was hard not to agree with; nearly everyone close to him had been killed.

"You must beware of the Goblin, my boy!" she wrapped herself up in her shawl. "Oh, those eyes! Those horrible, yellow eyes! Promise me here and now, Boy of Spiders, that you will not underestimate your enemies!"

"What enemies?" He was starting to take Professor Trelawney a little more seriously. "Who's the Goblin?"

"I cannot know at this time. My Inner Eye grants me visions, but I am afraid your future is too foggy to tell."

Now, no one was looking at him; not even Michelle.

"I think we will leave the lesson here for today," Professor Trelawney announced in her misty voice. "Yes... please pack away your textbooks and return your teacups, then you may leave."

Silently, the class took their teacups back to Professor Trelawney. It was as if Peter was repelling everyone; no one dared go within six feat of him. Sighing, he shoved his textbook back into his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"Until we meet again, children," Professor Trelawney barely whispered. "may fair fortune be yours."

Peter waited before everyone left, then descended Professor Trelawney’s ladder. Abel, Cal, and Will were all waiting for him there.

"Don't worry about it, mate," Will smiled weakly; clearly he wasn't as optimistic as he wanted to appear. "Professor Trelawney predicts someone's death, like, every other week. And no one's died yet."

He checked his schedule, seeing that they had Care of Magical Creatures next.

"Has she ever gotten a prediction right?" Peter asked grimly.

The boys all shared a look.

"People say she's only gotten two exactly right." Abel said. "She predicted the defeat of You-Know-Who, and made another prophecy about one of his followers. We reckon she's pretty a pretty good Seer; the old bat is just rubbish at interpreting. Just because Trelawney saw something real doesn't mean she explained it properly."

But there was a chance. Professor Trelawney had called Aunt May by her name, and had no reason to know that his parents were dead. What other ways could she have interpreted what she saw? What Goblin was supposedly after him? If any of this was to happen, how far away was it?


	8. Home Sweet Home

The next couple days passed without great incident, Despite Professor Trelawney's warning, the next couple days passed without anyone dying or getting injured; unless you counted Peter receiving a very mild burn during Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid's fire crabs - which were capable of shooting flames out of its rear end - decided to give the class a brief demonstration.

Stacking up to his previous injuries, Peter couldn't complain, and his arm had completely healed itself by the time lunch was over.

For all intents and purposes, he was doing well in all his courses. While Peter loved Hagrid and Professor Longbottom's courses, he couldn't say he was excelling as he did in potions. Without question, History of Magic was the most boring, but it was all memory work, so it was also simple.

Divination didn't get much better that week; no matter how much he tried, he failed to satisfy Professor Trelawney's standards. At one point, Peter thought he could fool her by predicting nothing but misery, but she saw right through that, and wasn't impressed.

If there was a course he would fail, it would be Divination, and he didn't mind one bit.

Peter's favourite subject at Hogwarts had to be the one he showed the most promise for - even more than Potions - Defence Against the Dark Arts.

It turned out the core of his wand was well-suited for performing defensive spells. Will even hypothesized that his powers had something to do with his aptitude for the subject.

He was two lessons in, and Peter got the sense that they took a practical approach when it came to the dark arts. There was little to no note-taking, and hardly any use of the textbook. Peter never took out his quill or his book one time in that class.

Another thing that made Defence Against the Dark Arts different from the rest of the subjects at Hogwarts was the teacher; there wasn't one.

Apparently, people were too afraid to take the job full-time. The only solution McGonagall could find was for the professors to rotate whenever they had a period free from teacher their proper course.

It had been rumoured that the position was jinxed decades ago. Whenever he asked who was responsible, the answer that came was always the same: You-Know-Who.

Peter did not know who.

According to Michelle, there was one point in time where the teacher would only last a year, then leave the position vacant. Some ended up dead, others were fired, and one spent months locked in a trunk. After Michelle filled him in, he understood why people weren't lining up to fill the job position.

"Mr. Parker," Professor McGonagall pulled him from his thoughts. "did you hear what I said?"

Peter's head shot up.

"Uh, yeah," he tugged at his tie nervously. "of course."

Of course not. Getting called to visit the Headmistress' office for the third time in five days tended to get your mind racing. Peter knew it must have been something to get him thinking this much about his courses.

"Then answer the question." McGonagall challenged; a single eyebrow raised.

Peter let out a sigh of defeat.

"You called my bluff." he said, noticing her subtle smirk.

"I asked you how you were enjoying your classes. How do things compare to your life back home?"

Things couldn't have been better. Learning magic that could be used in real life was a hell of a lot more interesting than doing math homework - or in his case, not doing math homework and getting detention for it. For the first time in almost a year, Peter was able to perform well in school, and without wearing a mask every day, his acne had completely disappeared (that was just a bonus).

While he missed Aunt May more than anyone, he couldn't complain about the new living accommodations. The bed Peter slept in back home was not only as hard as rock, but placed in the middle of his floor without a frame. They had to sell most of their belongings to get by after Ben died, and it was one of the first things to go.

For once in his life, Peter actually had clothes that fit him.

Hogwarts was perfect.

"Pretty good." Peter ran a hand through his hair - his right hand.

His arm no longer needed a sling, and was returned to its former health. Truth be told, Peter wasn't as thrilled as he thought he would be. The only reason he was staying at Hogwarts in the first place was so Aunt May wouldn't know about his injuries, and - by connecting the dots - Spider-Man. Now, that reason was gone.

"You've drawn quite some interest from Professor Slughorn; that's not a minor accomplishment." McGonagall said. "And the other professors have told me about your proficiency for Defence Against the Dark Arts. I must say, I've never heard of someone dodging a stunning spell."

Peter smiled proudly. In addition to dodging, he was the first student to successfully stun someone. It obviously took a few attempts in class, and a whole night of practicing desperately. At first, it didn't occur to him that everyone else was doing it for the first time.

"God, I wish I didn't have to go back to Midtown."

"Well, what if I told you that you didn't have to go back."

He froze, unsure if he had just heard McGonagall correctly.

"Professor?"

"You're as much a wizard as anyone else in the school, so you have every right to continue to learn at Hogwarts. Of course, if you were to stay, I would have to organize some additional lessons so you can catch up before your O.W.L.'s, but I have the utmost faith in you."

Peter wanted nothing more than to say yes, but he knew it couldn't be done. He had a responsibility as Spider-Man, and he couldn't make a selfish decision. People back home would always need someone around to help them. And he couldn't leave Aunt May. She was most important to him.

"Well, uh, t - thank you, Professor, but I -"

She held up a hand, and he fell silent.

"I expected you to have concerns, and I would like to help put your mind at ease." McGonagall held out her other hand and pulled something out of thin air. She presented it to him, and Peter immediately recognized it as a Sling Ring resembling that of Doctor Strange. "You know the rules of Hogwarts; specifically when it comes to apparition."

Apparition was a form of transportation in the wizarding world in which the user travelled instantly from one location to another, without traversing the space in-between. This was accomplished by having the user focus on a desired location in their mind and then purposely disappearing from where they were, to reappear at the desired location.

There was, however, a range limit.

"No one can apparate on Hogwarts grounds."

"Precisely." she placed it in his hand. "Doctor Strange used a similar Sling Ring to transport you from New York City to the Hospital Wing instantaneously, and without failure."

Peter began to smile, keeping his head down to try and contain his excitement. He thought he knew where this was going, and he hoped he was right.

"I'm aware of your duties back home, and I could not have a clear conscience if you were taken away from them; neither could I watch you go back to a life in which you so clearly despise. My proposal is this: you go home to your aunt, and try to master the Sling Ring. When you are able to return to Hogwarts by yourself, you can enroll here full-time. You will be able jump back and forth between Hogwarts and New York seamlessly, and the difference should be unnoticeable."

He could still learn at Hogwarts, go on patrol after classes, take photos for the Daily Bugle, hang out with Ned, and take care of Aunt May all at once! And all he had to do was learn how to use a Sling Ring! This went from being the toughest decision of his life to being the best deal he could get in seconds.

"I don't know what to say, Professor. Thank you."

Peter soon learned that students weren't allowed to use magic outside of school; at least until they turned seventeen, which was the age wizards and witches were considered adults. The Sling Ring, however, did not fall under the same category of magic, which meant he could use it without getting into trouble.

And by 'getting into trouble', he meant 'breaking the law'.

Peter tossed the last of his things into his suitcase before latching it closed. Overall, it didn’t add up to much; his Hogwarts robes, pajamas, textbooks, and his newly repaired suit buried at the bottom.

Leaving the worn-out suitcase on the bed, he walked over to the window and prepared himself to say goodbye to the only place he’d enjoyed being in the past eight months. It wasn't the last time he would set foot in Hogwarts, but even then, Peter couldn't shake the idea of leaving forever.

Due to the time difference back home, he had to leave in the middle of the day. Aunt May should have been getting back from work right about now.

The Hufflepuff Common Room was silent. Everyone else had gone down to the Great Hall for lunch, leaving Peter alone to pack his things; it didn't take long with the lack of possessions.

He took one last look at the dormitory before he departed from the window. Peter didn't know how long it would take to master the Sling Ring, so there was no telling how long it would take to get back to Hogwarts. He might as well enjoy it while he could.

Peter descended the stairs to the heart of the common room, pulling the almost non-existent weight of his suitcase along with him. Climbing up through the passageway, he exited out into the hall, a pair of feet waiting there for him.

Without looking up, he knew who it was; there was only one person in the school who kept their shoes that spotless.

"You all right, Jones?" Peter grinned up at her, tossing his suitcase through the hole.

"You're leaving." Michelle stated, helping him to his feet.

He brushed himself off, seeing that she was carrying a pile of books with her. What did he expect? Michelle was never without a book in her hands, and it was rarely by itself.

"For now." Peter nodded, pulling out the Sling Ring from the back pocket of his jeans.

"Any luck so far?" she asked hopefully as they made their way down to the Great Hall.

"A little. I can get a small portal going, but it can't take me anywhere. If I actually managed to squeezed myself through I would just end up on the other side of the room."

Once Peter got the chance to use the Sling Ring, he didn't waste any time trying to open a portal. After a couple hours, the small orange sparks had improved to a ring in the air. There was still plenty of progress to be made before he could celebrate.

"I heard the house-elves did a good job repairing your suit."

"House-elves?"

"They're creatures who've been horribly abused in the wizarding world." Michelle said sadly. "In the past - in part due to their absolute obedience - house-elves have been treated very brutally by their owners. Not long ago, house-elves had no rights of their own; they were only viewed as servants." Her volume kept increasing with every word, her anger growing. "It's slavery, that's what it was! Some people even had the audacity to claim the elves liked being treated that way!"

Peter looked down at his suitcase in a panic.

"They weren't _forced_ to fix my suit, right? Because, I - I don't think I could wear it if they're treated like... you know."

"No." Michelle huffed, pushing away her curly hair that had fallen in her face during her rant. "They're paid for what they do now - most of them, anyway - thank Merlin for that, but there are still ways people mistreat them."

He knew she was obsessed with school, but it sounded as if things took a back seat when it came to the house-elves.

"I didn't know you cared so much about this kind of stuff."

"Well, someone has to." she glanced in his direction briefly, catching him smiling at her. "What?"

Peter looked away at once.

"Nothing." he said, looking down at the ground. "I just think it's nice you like to help people, you know?"

Michelle's cheeks were suddenly pink like a spring rose, the colour growing brighter against her skin. She clutched her books to her chest, and turned her head to the side to avert her gaze, but he could tell she was smiling.

"I guess." Michelle nodded, speaking rapidly with her voice timid. "I can't do as much to help now as I would like to, but it's a good start. Um... a - a house-elf can only be freed when their master presents them with clothes, so I started making clothes for them.... It gets pretty cold in New York, right?"

"In the winter, yeah."

Peter didn't get the chance to ask where she was going with this. Michelle let out a squeak, turned on her heel, and headed back in the direction of the Slytherin Common Room.

He couldn't have done something to make her mad at him again, right? Michelle didn't _seem_ mad at him, but how was Peter supposed to tell? Like Hagrid said; she was not easy to understand.

Watching the curly-haired girl disappear around the corner, Peter felt a hand on his shoulder. The hand was wrinkled, pale, and belonged to the caretaker; Mr. Filch.

"All students are permitted to wear their uniforms in the halls, Mr. Parker." the old man took in his worn-out jeans, blue shirt, and red flannel disapprovingly. "Where is your uniform?"

Peter held up his suitcase and waved it in front of his face.

"You didn't arrive with that." Filch spat. "You stole it from one of the other students, didn't you?"

"It belonged to my uncle." He tilted it slightly, making sure the initials B.F.P. were visible. "Professor McGonagall got it for me."

Since they were not yet telling Aunt May about his week at Hogwarts, they were relying on the original cover story provided by Tony. As far as May was concerned, his class was spending a week doing... something for Stark Industries. It didn't make much sense to him, but he wouldn't have to worry about it much longer.

Obviously, Peter needed to return with a suitcase of some kind, so McGonagall was kind enough to have it retrieved from the apartment.

"Why aren't you wearing your uniform?"

"I didn't see the point." Peter said with a grin. "I'm leaving soon, so the teachers said I could get away with it this one time. You can ask them if you want."

He learned early on that Filch had an extremely unpleasant personality, and despite working at a school, he was very vocal when it came to his dislike of the students. He could often be heard going on and on about the 'old days' where school punishments may or may not have involved disembowelment.

Due to his grouchy voice, Peter could never tell when he was being sarcastic.

"Believe me, Mr. Parker," he let go of the collar of his flannel, holding up a finger as a warning. "I will."

Finally, he was able to get to the Great Hall to say his goodbyes. No - not goodbyes. If all went well, he would be back to Hogwarts in no time. Hopefully, he would be back so quickly that it would feel like he'd never left.

Peter didn't get as much time as he thought he would. A short time later, McGonagall grabbed his attention from the entrance to the hall, a Sling Ring in her hand to transport him back to New York.

"Do you have all your belongings?" the headmistress asked him, readjusting her square glasses.

"All of 'em." Peter's thoughts drifted back to Michelle. He knew it wasn't ready to go back just yet. "Uh, you know what?" he gestured over his shoulder and began heading down the corridor. "There is just _one_ thing I forgot."

Almost as if thinking about her had caused her to appear, Peter turned the corner and ran directly into Michelle, almost knocking her over. He caught her by the wrist, preventing her from falling by pulling her back onto her feet.

"Hey," Peter said brightly. "I was just looking for you."

"Me too." She was still blushing furiously, her face practically glowing. "I, uh... I know you want to get back to your aunt, so I wanted to keep this quick." Nervously, Michelle held out a yellow and grey scarf to him. "M - most students get something like this when they come to Hogwarts, but I knew you didn't, so I thought I'd make you one. It's rubbish, I know, but I - I hope you like it."

Peter took it in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the soft material. How could she think something this well-made was rubbish?

"I love it." he said, causing her eyes to widen. Michelle visibly shrank before him as if trying to hide.

"Really?"

"Really." Peter placed it around his neck proudly. "And this makes us even. I get you a book, you make me a scarf, so now you don't owe me a thing. If anything, I owe you now. You finished that book in two days, but I'm going to need this thing for a long time."

"Mr. Parker!" McGonagall called out.

He picked up his suitcase, gave a final wave to Michelle, and ran back to the opening point. In the middle of the corridor was a massive orange portal, acting as a window to the front door of his apartment.

"We look forward to your return, Peter." Professor McGonagall nodded to him, pulling out a pair of round glasses from her robe. "And before I forget, I'm told you like to wear these around your aunt."

"Thanks." he said, sliding them on. "I'll see you soon."

Peter sighed, and stepped through the portal, his feet returning to the familiar hallway. He didn't want to look back. If he did, he knew he wouldn't want to stay. As Peter heard the portal close behind him, he felt his stomach turn.

He was then reminded about the one good thing about being back in New York; and it was on the other side of that door.


	9. Chapter 9

So, this is easily one of my favourite things to write, but I'm not going to be able to finish it.

Not officially, at least.

As you may have heard, there's this little virus going around, and it's changed a few things. The thing that impacted me most was school. At the moment, I'm going through two subjects at a time in just under two months, and have quickly realized that I can't afford to focus on anything else.

What makes it even more important is that I'm heading to university next year, and it would be foolish of me to not put my maximum effort (credit to Deadpool) into my schoolwork.

I will have to do the same when I actually get to university.

I really don't want to stop writing because I enjoy it so much, but I feel like I'm making the right decision.

The thing is, I hate seeing fics that haven't been updated in years, and I don't want this to be one of them. I'd also feel pretty shitty with myself if I just left this for good.

For the few of you who actually read this thing, I'd like to give you one of two options.

I could either leave this for good, and leave the whole story to your imagination, or I could do one last chapter in which I give a brief summary of everything I was planning to do with this thing.

The latter would be my preference, but it's completely up to you guys.

Anyways, that's all I have to say. Thank you to all of you who have been reading my stuff over the past however many months since January 30th, 2019, and I hope I haven't disappointed anyone by this decision.


	10. Chapter 10

So, I got one rare bit of free time this weekend, and I took the chance to do this. For whatever reason, I started writing, and just couldn't stop. I know I said "summary" but whatever. No regrets here. It was one of those things that lined up perfectly. Both my current classes finished the unit at the same time, so I had no homework or studying to do. Thank God for that.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy this. I don't know when I'll get an opportunity like this again, but I'm really glad I did.

It ends kind of abruptly in my opinion, but I needed to end it where I did. I ran out of time to go anywhere else with the story so far.

***

Predictably, Peter's return to New York was a bleak affair.

Outside of getting to see Aunt May for the first time in a week, there wasn't much to look forward to.

His short time at Hogwarts had been a high that he never wanted to come down from, but he knew it had to happen eventually, and Peter was left feeling lower than ever before.

The weekend provided just enough disaster to prepare him for his Midtown homecoming, including but not limited to, Jameson firing him (and then rehiring him after finding out his other photographer got hit in the head with a croquet ball), no less than four people throwing garbage at him on the streets, and the next door neighbours cat throwing up in his shoes.

When Monday finally came, Peter could hardly bring himself to get out of bed.

Aside from Ned, everyone at Midtown hated Peter, including the teachers. But none of them compared to Eugene 'Flash' Thompson.

Flash Thompson was the exact opposite of Peter Parker, and ever since they met in first grade, it was his goal to make Peter's life a living hell (not that he needed any help with that).

From what he heard around the halls, Flash lived outside of the city in a massive house, and arrived at school every morning in a car Peter could never dream of affording, driven by a man hired by his parents. His clothes were always clean and fit perfectly, and not a single hair was out of place.

Every day, Flash did something horrible to Peter, but there were a select few of occasions that stood out in his mind.

The worst of these was when he was six, the year after Peter started living with Uncle Ben and Aunt May. Peter had accidentally bumped into Flash and his gang after school. They had chased Peter halfway through Queens, going through alleys, the subway, and eventually up a building where they cornered him.

Peter didn't get home until past midnight that night, greeted by an exhausted Ben and a May who had worried herself half to death.

When he couldn't fight it any longer, Peter slipped out of bed, grabbed his glasses, and began to get dressed.

***

"Where were you last week?" Ned asked eagerly. "Were you with the Avengers? Did you go to another planet? Did you take pictures? Please tell me you at least got a souvenir."

"No - no - nothing like that." Peter looked around the hallway quickly. As usual, no one was paying any attention to them. "I was on earth. But I'm not allowed tell you anything else."

"Ooh..." the grin on his face became larger, putting an extra skip in his step. "vague and mysterious - I love vague and mysterious things - you've got to tell me now. And if you really can't tell me, I can guess, and you'll tell me if I'm close."

Peter couldn't lie to Ned, nor did he want to, but he also couldn't tell him the full truth. Keeping him in the dark just didn't feel right.

"It's complicated." he sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "But pretty soon... I'm going to leave Midtown, and I'm never going to come back."

Ned snorted.

"Come on, man, be serious."

"I am!" He spoke a little louder than anticipated, and dozens of people were now staring at them. Peter grabbed Ned by the strap of his backpack, pulling him out of the crowd. "I am." Peter repeated once he was sure they were out of an earshot. "There's a... _place_ Ned... a really great place, with people who actually like me. They made me an offer I couldn't refuse. I can go to school there, and I can still be Spider-Man here. And why the hell would I want to stay here of all places?"

Ned to a moment to process everything, a blank expression on his face.

"So, it's like a superhero school, that type of thing?"

"Uh... yeah, let's - let's go with that."

The bell for the next period rang, and Peter, a feeling of great gloom in his stomach, started walking towards their next class. He couldn't see the point in trying now that he was going to Hogwarts.

"And we can still hang out, and stuff like that, right?"

They dropped into their usual chairs at the back of the classroom, placing their bags on the ground.

"Always."

Being at Midtown only made Peter miss Hogwarts more. The things they learned in the Muggle world were truly useless, while the wizarding curriculum could be applied to everyday life.

With every glance at the apparently slowing clock, Peter found himself thinking _what's the point of all of this?_

Mr. Harrington thought it was a good day to dismiss everyone early for lunch - everyone except for Peter, so they could have a discuss of his absence the previous week. But Peter wasn’t complaining; any excuse not to be near Flash Thompson was fine by him, so he began to make up ridiculous story after ridiculous story to take as long as he could.

By the time he got out of the class, Ned was still there waiting for him by their lockers, and lunch was nearly over. He would have felt guilty, but Ned had eaten half of his sandwich already, so he hadn't been kept from much.

"What did he say?" he asked, partially muffled due to the food in his mouth.

"That the school doesn't tolerate lying. You know the chalkboard gag at the beginning of each Simpsons episode?"

Ned nodded.

"Mr. Harrington says I have to write 'I must not tell lies' until the message sinks in."

Pretty soon, the halls were filled once again with other students getting ready for their afternoon classes. One of them, however, stood out from all the rest.

"Hey!" a familiar voice barked, causing Peter to stop in his tracks. "Parker's back!"

Flash and his gang pushed through the crowd directly towards them. Ned gave him a quick whisper to ignore them, and they simply turned to their lockers.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but thanks a lot, Parker." Flash laughed. "You gave the school a whole week without having to look at you. Honestly, best time I've had in a while. Too bad you can't make it longer. I'll tell you what!" He pulled out his wallet slowly, and waved a single dollar in the air. "Never come back, and it's all yours. Most money you've seen in your whole life, right?"

Peter clenched his fists, but Ned grabbed him by the shoulder and told him to stop.

Much to the disappointment of Flash, he immediately listened. His nemesis grew red with anger, clearly desperate to get a response from him.

"Remember the day Parker first came to school?" Flash glanced at each member of his gang curiously. "Fresh off moving in with his aunt and uncle after his parents abandoned him -"

“They didn’t abandon me!” Peter snapped, who found his lock had been completely crushed in his hand.

"Woah, woah," Flash laughed again. "don't try to deny it. Everyone knows they dumped you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep. Well, when I say doorstep, I mean their apartment building. Poor guys could never afford a house, could they?"

Peter tried to keep calm, but his hands were shaking and his face was starting to burn furiously.

“It’s damn good of those old freaks to keep you. I know my parents wouldn't have done it themselves. You’d have gone straight to an orphanage if you’d been dumped on our doorstep."

 _Keep calm, keep calm, don't say anything,_ he told himself repeatedly.

"The only difference is that we would have been able to afford to keep you around. I'm surprised you aren't out on the street after your uncle had to go and get himself killed -"

 _"SHUT UP!"_ Peter tore the door off of his locker and stormed towards Flash. _"SHUT - UP!"_

He wanted to kill him - God knows he could have. The only time he remembered feeling this way was the night he cornered the man who killed his Uncle Ben.

But Peter didn't get a chance to lay a finger on him.

At that moment, the glass display case and the windows surrounding them exploded out of nowhere. Shards of glass flew in every direction, and by some miracle, missed everyone.

"What the hell?" one of Flash's friends asked.

Flash was too preoccupied to care.

“You know what, Parker?! Good for him! You made his life a living hell, so there was only one way to get away from you!" he responded with a shout just as loud. No one had ever spoken to Flash like that in his life. "Imagine being stuck with a son you never wanted! You -"

But Flash suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed him - like he had suddenly forgotten what he was about to say.

He seemed to be growing swollen with anger, growing redder and redder by the second - and he didn't show any signs of stopping. His great red face was expanding like blowing up a balloon, his beady little eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, and his mouth stretched too tightly to speak.

People were backing away from him as he now took up the entire hallway as a round blob, nearly all of his clothes torn and his backpack fallen on the ground long forgotten.

Next second, the lights flickered, then went out, leaving the hallway barely illuminated by the broken windows.

Flash only became larger from there.

“Eugene!” Mr. Harrington yelled, accompanied by nearly every teacher in the school, who couldn't do anything except watch this unfold.

Flash's whole body began to rise off the floor towards the ceiling, but he had nowhere to go.

At least that's what Peter thought.

His balloon like body tore through the ceiling as he continued to ascend, shrieking.

The remaining members of his gang came skidding into the hall, shouting hysterically.

"Get me down! Get me down!"

They all jumped as high as they could, and seized Flash by the hands and feet - two on each member - and tried to pull him back down to earth, finding themselves lifted off the floor as well.

Teachers piled on as well, but their fate was the same.

When it became apparent that no one could help him, they all let go, falling back to the ground as Flash slowly became a spec in the air.

Ned turned to Peter worriedly.

"He deserved it." was all he could manage to say as he tore from the hallway before anyone could stop him, heading for the stairs.

The doors magically burst open before he even touched them, slamming shut after Ned came through.

"Did you do that?!" Ned asked, simultaneously terrified and astonished.

"I didn't mean to." Peter said, breathing heavily, still hot with anger. "But I'm glad I did. He deserved it - maybe worse than that."

Whenever Peter heard of Ben, he lost all control. Flash knew what buttons to push, but he had never gone that far.

"Do you have new powers?!"

"I don't want to talk about this right now."

They finally got outside, a faint screaming in the sky that only got more distant.

"Are you okay, man?" Ned jogged beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder to get him to stop, but Peter slapped it away. "Sorry. It's just... what Flash did was low, but - hold on, can you tell me where we're going first?"

"I don't know! It doesn't matter! I'm just going!" Peter's voice boomed. "I've had enough!"

He knew where he wanted to. He wanted to get back to Hogwarts.

That's when it hit him.

What was going to happen to him now that he had broken the laws of the wizarding world? Peter performed magic in front of hundreds of Muggles, and the news would travel fast. Accident or not, the law was the law. Would he be arrested, or would he be banished from the wizarding world forever?

***

Aunt May had to take a late shift down at the hospital, so Peter found himself alone all night, most of which was spent imagining all the horrible things people suspected of him, both in the Muggle world and the wizarding world.

There was nothing solid to connect him to Flash blowing his top, but people weren't stupid.

The rest of the night, Peter kept trying and failing to get a portal working. It was just big enough to get a glimpse at Hogwarts - the thing he couldn't stop thinking of - but too small to get through. He felt it was a sick way of torturing him.

A little past three in the morning, still staring up at the same spot on the ceiling, there was a tap at the door, and without thinking, he raised to his feet to answer. Peter was far too tired to put any thought into his actions.

The person on the other side was enough to jolt him awake.

"Professor McGonagall!" Peter cried.

"We have a problem." she said, entering the apartment and closing the door with a wave of her hand. When it locked itself, she turned to him, looking more fearful than she had ever appeared to him. "Look."

McGonagall handed him a newspaper called the Daily Prophet, turned to the front page. There was a moving picture of him, with a flash from the camera covering his face for a brief second before it transitioned to the mask of Spider-Man.

" _Web of Lies by Rita Skeeter._ " he read aloud. "What do you mean _we_ have a problem, professor?"

By all accounts, it only had a negative impact on him. Why could McGonagall have to do with any of this.

"I realize you have plenty of concerns, so let me make one thing very, _very_ clear; the Ministry of Magic is _not_ going to punish you for that little stunt of yours yesterday afternoon. They are completely aware that it was an accident, and they do not send people to Azkaban for blowing up boy, it has happened before, and it will not be the last.

"Two members of the Accidental Magic Reversal Department were dispatched to your school as soon as possible. Mr. Thompson has been punctured and his memory has been modified, as well as any witnesses. They have no recollection of the incident at all."

Professor McGonagall frowned at Peter through her square glasses, but she didn't look disappointed in him. Peter, who couldn’t believe his ears, opened his mouth to speak, and couldn’t think of anything to say except "so...."

"You're on the front page of the Daily Prophet! The entire wizarding world knows who you are, but that is hardly a problem! Worse off, you are now on the Ministry of Magic's watchlist!"

"For blowing up Flash?" he asked in disbelief. "I thought you said these things happen!"

"Accidental magic? Yes. A student attending Hogwarts without the knowledge of the Ministry? Never! Let alone a Muggle-born boy from America. There are no rules in place for this situation because it's never happened before, so they're making things up as they go!"

McGonagall pulled something else from her robes. It was an envelope addressed to him, which he ripped open in an instant.

_Dear Mr. Parker,_

_We have received intelligence that you have been attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from the 20th of October, 2014, to the 24th of October, 2014, without the knowledge of any Ministry employee, or being properly registered. Due to the severity of this breach, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on October 27th._

_Hoping you are well,_

_Bathilda Palmer,_

_Senior Undersecretary to the Minister,_

_Ministry of Magic._

Peter read through the letter again and again, unsure of what to make of it. He didn't know what a disciplinary hearing meant, but it couldn't be a simple walk in the park.

"We are in uncharted territory here, Peter." McGonagall broke the silence between them. "There is no telling what will become of this. I warn you that some members of the Wizengamot -"

"Bless you."

"This is not the time for jokes! Some members of the Wizengamot still show great prejudice to Muggle-born wizards. I do know _some_ who will support you. The Minister is a reasonable man, and I arranged for one of your interrogators to be changed to someone more favourable. We have no time to lose. Get out of your pajamas, and for Merlin's sake, comb your hair!"

Peter blinked tiredly and turned to the clock in the kitchen.

"Professor, what's the rush? It's three thirty in the morning."

"Do you remember how time-zones work?! Your hearing starts in half an hour!"

***

“The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day.” the woman’s voice said as they stepped out of the telephone box.

Peter and Professor McGonagall were now standing at one end of a very long hall with on a dark wood floor so polished that he could scarcely see his own reflection. The blue ceiling was covered with gleaming golden symbols that kept moving and changing by the second.

The walls on each side were paneled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a person would emerge from one side of the hall while other lined up to exit on the other.

Peter had never seen anything like this place in his life.

"You cannot keep your tie that loose, Mr. Parker." McGonagall said, and he suddenly felt a light pressure around his neck.

"Actually, I think I can." he tugged at it, then sighed in relief. "I probably shouldn't, but -"

"You shouldn't."

His tie immediately went back to being too tight.

Getting ready didn't take long. Peter didn't know what the attire was when going to a disciplinary hearing, but his school uniform probably wouldn't cut it, since everyone had worn it at one time.

He ultimately settled on borrowing one of Ben's old suits, which fit him horribly, as Ben was much taller than he was.

They tried to use a wet comb to try and make his hair look somewhat presentable, but he gave up after five minutes. Thank God he stopped when he did, because the hearing started in less than ten minutes.

“Right this way, Peter.” Professor McGonagall said, and they stepped out of the stream of Ministry employees. They were heading for golden gates, toward a desk on the left. Over which a large sign hung saying _security_. The wizard sitting at the desk, in peacock-blue robes, looked up as they approached. He put down his Daily Prophet, which happened to have Peter's picture on it.

“Step over here.” the wizard told Peter in a stern voice. Peter walked closer to him and the wizard held up a long golden rod, thin and flexible. He passed it up and down Peter’s front and back, and said "wand."

"He hasn't brought it with him." McGonagall said, stepping between them. "It shouldn't be a problem, Marvin."

She grasped him by the shoulder, and they steered away from the desk and back into the stream of wizards and witches walking through the golden gates.

"Your hearing is being held down in the fourth courtroom." she said as they entered a box that resembled an elevator. "I know you're tired, Peter, but you have to be very careful with your words. No jokes, only speak when spoken to, and tell the truth. I'd tell you the law is on your side, but as I said, there are no laws to protect you or accuse you."

The doors closed, and they began to descend.

"But I don't even know why I'm in trouble!"

"The Ministry despises not knowing things. Rest assured, they cannot expel you from Hogwarts. That power lies with me, which I will not do. If it is necessary, I can be a witness for your case."

The elevator reached its destination, and Peter found himself in a corridor which bore a great resemblance to the one at Hogwarts which led to the dungeons with rough stone walls and torches in brackets.

They came to a halt outside a grimy dark door with a massive iron lock. McGonagall led him forward.

"Go on," she said calmly. "Good luck, Peter."

Peter’s heart was beating violently. He hadn't realized how sweaty he had been getting until just now. Maybe he was a little more nervous than he previously thought. Peter swallowed hard, reached his hand out to turn the heavy iron door handle, and stepped inside the courtroom.

But it didn't look like a courtroom.

It looked more like a dungeon. A large dungeon large dungeon where the walls were made of dark stone and dimly lit by torches. Empty benches rose on either side of him, but ahead, in the highest benches of all, were many figures.

In the middle of these figures was a tall, broad shouldered wizard. Peter could see under his hat that he was bald, and wore a single gold hoop earring.

"Mr. Parker." he said in a slow, deep voice that was somehow reassuring. "Please, take a seat."

Peter dropped his gaze to the chair in the center of the room, the arms of which were covered in chains. If this was a form of terrifying him, it was working.

His footsteps echoed loudly as he walked across the stone floor. When he sat on the edge of the chair, the chains clinked together loudly, but at least they were not being used to bind him. Feeling rather sick he looked up at the men and women seated on the bench above.

There were exactly fifty of them - he counted rapidly - all wearing plum-colored robes with a silver _W_ on the left side of the chest. All of these adults were staring down at him, some curious, other disgusted.

A middle-aged, bushy haired witch who was clearly very short on left of the man with the earing; she was one of the one's who wasn't disgusted by him. On the contrary, she actually seemed to be supporting him, but then again, Peter wasn't great at reading people.

On the right was another witch. He focused on her scent, his mind immediately going to the letter he received. There was also a bit of ink on her right hand that perfectly matched the letter too. She must have been Bathilda Palmer.

"The accused being present, let us begin." he said, looking down at his paper. "Disciplinary hearing of the twenty-seventh of October, into the potential offences committed by Peter Benjamin Parker, resident of Queens, New York City, in the state of New York, United States of America, current address unknown.

"Interrogators: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic; Bathilda Emily Palmer, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister; Hermione Jean Granger, Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Court Scribe, Jonathan Obadiah Polk.

"The charges against the accused are as follows: attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry without the knowledge of the Ministry of Magic, obtaining a wand from Garrick Ollivander without the knowledge of the Ministry of Magic, and failure to register himself.

"You are Peter Benjamin Parker, of Queens, New York City, in the state of New York, United States of America?"

 _That's quite a mouthful, you could just say Queens,_ was what he wanted to say.

"Yes, sir." was all that came out.

"Very good. The purpose of this hearing is to determine if punishment is necessary for these potential offences, and how the Ministry should proceed, moving forward, if something like this is to slip past us again. Tell us, Mr. Parker, how you first came to Hogwarts."

The woman his right - Miss Palmer - raised her hand and cleared her throat, turning the attention from Peter to herself.

"I believe that Miss Rita Skeeter has provided us with enough information to figure out what transpired last week."

"If history tells us anything," Mrs. Granger said, "it's that Rita Skeeter is a rather unreliable writer, and often makes up information for the sake of drawing in more readers."

"Agreed." Shacklebolt nodded. "Please, Mr. Parker, you may tell us your side of the story."

Although he couldn't remember the circumstances at which he arrived at Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall was more than happy to fill in the gaps for the so-called Wizengamot. She also provided the information of his family tree, and the spider bite amplifying his potential as a wizard.

Many members wished to view the memories themselves, but McGonagall refused.

Peter didn't want to have to relive that a third time.

"I see no need for punishment." Mrs. Granger said, prompting whispering amongst the Wizengamot members. "The reasonable solution is to have Mr. Parker registered and have the Trace charm placed upon him."

"Their stories," another voice in the back popped up. "while believable, and corresponding with one another, don't quite line-up with Miss Skeeter's article - which I'm sure we've all had a chance to read at this point in time."

"I'd say Professor McGonagall is a far more reliable witness than that horrible woman."

Peter was glad he only read the headline instead of the actual article. But whatever lies had been written had clearly spread like wildfire if these adults believed it. Except for the clever ones, it seemed.

There was more debating and whispering from there, but Peter did his best not to listen in on any of them.

All the while, he looked at his feet. His heart, kept pounding loudly in his chest as they debated. He had expected the hearing to last far longer than this. Peter was not at all sure that he had made a good impression with these people, but all he could do now was pray for good news.

“Those in favor of Mrs. Granger's proposal?” Shacklebolt's voice boomed throughout the courtroom.

Peter looked up, startled. There were hands hand the air, he counted, definitely more than half of them! Including the Minister of Magic himself! Was that good? Or did it have to be a unanimous decision?

"And those in favour of punishment?" he said again.

Very few people raised their hands this time. It was much easier to count too. Only three people were voting against him.

"Peter Benjamin Parker, we hereby clear you of all potential charges. Please report to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to be registered and have the Trace charm placed upon you."

"Excellent." he heard Professor McGonagall say happily under her breath.

With one last look at the Wizengamot, Peter smiled, then left the dungeon in a hurry.

***

Aunt May passed out when she found out about the wizarding world.

Of course, she thought it was all an elaborate prank by Peter at first. It was only when their refrigerator spontaneously burst into flames that she believed Professor McGonagall was who she said she was.

There was no damage done. It was merely consumed by the flames, but nothing was burning - truly something that would be considered magical by Aunt May's standards.

This occurred not long after his hearing down at the Ministry of Magic, when he was finally able to get a full-fledged portal going to bring him between Hogwarts and his tiny apartment in the middle of Queens.

This, also, was used as a selling point for May to allow him to attend Hogwarts.

She still didn't know the true circumstances of his discovery of the school. Aunt May was under the impression that Hogwarts students started at fourteen years old instead of eleven. There was no need to inform her of his other identity at this point in time.

After his hearing, Mrs. Granger placed the Trace charm on him, which McGonagall explained to him simply.

The trace was a charm which allowed the Ministry to know of magic cast in the vicinity of wizards and witches who were under seventeen years of age. When any magical activity was performed in the vicinity of the underage individual, the Improper Use of Magic Office within the Ministry was alerted to the spell that was used, and to the location of the caster and the time it was cast.

Peter was a little hesitant to be tracked this much, but his mind was put at ease when he heard the charm automatically broke on his seventeenth birthday - the day he would be considered an adult in the wizarding world.

Ned grew more suspicious of this school when he was the only one that remembered the whole Flash fiasco. Peter told him not to bring it up to anyone else, but that only increased his questioning.

As for Midtown, they were told he was transferring to a school up state. Somehow, the rumour spread (probably because of Flash) that his poor attendance was too much to tolerate, and Peter was going to a "school for hopeless causes."

Honestly, he didn't care what they said about him at this point. He was finally going back to Hogwarts. He finally felt like he belonged somewhere.

***

"Do you have everything?" May asked, going through her own bag.

"Yes." Peter said for the fifth time that morning.

"Books?"

"Yes."

"Pencils?"

"We use ink and quills there, but yeah."

"Your... _Sling Ring?"_

She looked at him with her eyebrows raised, hoping she used the correct term.

Peter pulled the object from his pocket, tossing it in the air briefly.

"And your - God, I can't believe I'm asking this - you have your wand, right?"

"Yeah, May, really," he laughed. "you don't need to worry. I've got everything I need."

She ruffled his hair, and got up on her toes to plant a quick kiss on the forehead.

"I have another late shift, so I won't be back until later tonight." May said, retrieving her keys from her bag. "Oh! And before I forget, the car has to go in to get the breaks fixed, so we're going to have to use the subway for the next couple days."

The Sling Ring wasn't taught at Hogwarts, so there were no restrictions. He didn't have to worry about getting in trouble because he could use it outside of school. Professor McGonagall said it was only to be used for travel between his home and school, but what was the harm in helping Aunt May get around?

Ever since Peter got it working, he'd also been planning bringing May to see London like she'd always wanted; without having to worry about paying for travel, so there was nothing stopping them from doing it.

Peter slid on his ring, and focused on the hospital as he reached out, tracing his right hand in a circular pattern.

 _The hospital,_ he kept saying in his mind until it appeared.

In the middle of their apartment was a doorway to the hospital - the roof, specifically so no one would see them.

Peter figured they could get a few thousand for the car, easily enough to cover half a year’s worth of rent. And they would save a fortune not having to pay for gas, getting the car washed, and any other maintenance.

It shouldn't be that hard to convince Aunt May to sell. Nearly everything they parted with to get by had some form of emotional significance, but the car meant absolutely nothing to them.

Except for getting around, that is.

May hesitated for a moment, but stepped through, taking in her surroundings on the other side. She peaked her head back through to the apartment, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Well, look at that." she smiled warmly. "Looks like I'm going to have to keep you now."

"Glad I bought myself more time."

"See you tonight." May called back as she headed for the door, and the portal began close. "Happy Halloween!"

***

"Come on, mate," Will pleaded with Peter. "it's Quidditch! And you'd be a perfect Seeker! You've got the build, and I'd bet anyone ten Galleons you could spot the Snitch from at least a mile away! Plus, Seeker's are always shortest on the team - and ideally on the skinny side - just like you!"

"Thanks a lot." he groaned, twirling the fork in his hand that rested on his barely-touched plate.

Peter didn't expect his return to Hogwarts to go quite like this. Through their morning classes, Will, Cal, and Abel spoke of nothing except Quidditch, desperately trying to get him to fill the open spot on the Hufflepuff team. Three hours in, and they were still going strong, and showed no sign of relenting.

During his absence, their original Seeker, Anna, got hit by a Bludger and decided to quit afterwards. She said she didn't want to risk getting hurt again after that.

Even the teams captain - Teddy Lupin - joined in on the recruiting.

No matter how many reasons he gave against joining, they still didn't quit.

Peter argued that he wouldn't be any good on a broom, and that he couldn't afford to take so much time to play a game. After all, he had enough on his plate with Spider-Man duties, working for the Daily Bugle, and studying.

In return, Teddy offered to train him quickly before the match, and cited his ability to balance would prove useful to mastering a broom. They also argued that the Seeker didn't need to spend time memorizing strategies, since their only responsibility was to catch the Snitch.

He had to admit that four matches in a span of eight months didn't seem like that big of a commitment.

"It's all right if you don't want to join for the year." Teddy said. "All we're asking for is one match, then we can find a permanent replacement for Anna. The thing is, our season starts next Monday, so we don't have enough time to try out new Seekers." He lowered his voice and spoke rapidly. "And if you want to be on the team full-time after that, it's fine by me."

Peter suddenly caught the distinctive smell of sweet, apple-scented tea paired with parchment from the library books. He turned to see Michelle was heading in their direction. She dropped a brand-new pile of textbooks on the table, causing the glasses to fall over, and sat beside him.

"Oh, baby sister of mine," Will greeted her in a sing-song voice.

"You're older than me by one minute."

"Still counts. As I was saying, can you please put some bloody sense into Peter and tell him how great Quidditch is?!"

Michelle pushed a portion of her hair behind her ear, and gave him a quick glace.

"It's not bad. But it's only a game."

Will let out an exaggerated scoff.

"You are such a liar!" he threw his hands into the air, then turned to Peter. "She plays with us back home all the time, and she goes complete crackers!"

Michelle's nonchalant expression turned fiery. She slammed a fist on the table, and leaned forward.

"I won fair and square!"

"You play dirty and you know it!" Abel jumped in, and she shifted her glare to him.

"I -" Cal started.

"Nope!" Will cut him off. "You're only going to agree with her because you were on her team! If the roles were reversed, you'd change your tune!"

"That's - how - it - works!" Michelle said with her volume increased, banging her hand against the table between every word. "You three may be in the 'honest house' but people are always going to agree with someone when it's in their favour!"

"But one of us is right." Will tried to mask his statement with a fake cough.

"And it's me!"

Peter didn't want to get caught in the middle of a family argument, and Teddy was clearly getting uncomfortable with all of this. He suddenly remembered he had to go 'do something', and took off quickly, but with all the shouting, it practically went unnoticed.

When the bell rang for their next class, the members of the Jones family remained seated for far too long, but eventually gave in once they came to the realization that Michelle just wouldn't budge.

Charms was one of the few periods Peter had without Will, Cal, and Abel, so now, it was just him and Michelle. Straight away, her liveliness disappeared as if it had never been there.

"You're a big Quidditch fan, then?" he asked, noticing a glowing blush creep up onto her face as she nodded quickly. "Does that mean you're on the Slytherin team?"

"N - no." her voice came out so quiet now that his super hearing nearly didn't pick it up.

"I mean, I barely understood what you guys were talking about, but you clearly know your stuff. And it sounds like you can fly pretty good. Why wouldn't you join?"

"I..."

Professor Flitwick, the tiny little Charms master, came between their desks, effectively putting an end to their middle of class conversation.

Peter angled his head so he could look over their teacher, and saw Michelle had gone back to work, no longer blushing. Come to think of it, she never acted nervously when other people were around.

They were supposed to be practicing the Summoning Charm today, but neither of them had gotten started.

"Now, Mr. Parker, Miss Jones, a little less talk, a little more action. Let me see you try and summon your quills."

They had been placed around the room in various locations. More than half the students had their quills summoned already.

Peter raised his wandless hand and shot a web directly at his quill. The next second, he was presenting it to Professor Flitwick with a grin. Michelle let out a small laugh, but Flitwick did not look amused.

"Please, Mr. Parker, none of your spider tricks." With a wave of his own wand, the quill returned to its original resting place. "Miss Jones, how about you?"

Michelle cleared her throat, waved her wand in the practiced motion and said "Accio quill!" and it zoomed towards her and landed gracefully on her desk.

Peter mirrored her actions, and achieved the same result.

"Well done, children, well done." Flitwick tapped his hands together. "Keep practicing. I'll expect you to have mastered this spell by the end of the term. It won't take long for us to move on from quills to textbooks."


	11. Chapter 11

The Quidditch season had officially begun, and on Saturday, Peter would be playing in his very first match after a whopping two days of flight training. The members of the Hufflepuff team had successfully worn him down, and convinced him to join, but only for the match against Ravenclaw. After that, he would have no obligation to play.

Peter was pretty shaky on the broom. It was no secret that he was by far the worst flier on the team, but Teddy said it wasn't unexpected. Students with such little experience (and in his case, no experience) never played on a school team.

But his enhanced sight would hopefully make up for the lack of skill during the match. At least that was the case during his training.

Practicing catching the Golden Snitch proved easy for him. Peter could see it clearly from the other side of the Quidditch pitch, and even hear the little noises its silver wings made as it moved aimlessly.

Quidditch, as it turned out, was not all fun and games. Teddy had casually brought up the fact that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul, and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473. The prefect seemed a little more hesitant to reveal most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to Seekers.

Although people 'rarely died' playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

Even with Peter's advanced durability and healing, he still couldn’t shake the butterflies from his stomach. If a cracked skull was a minor injury in the wizarding world, what would be considered a serious one?!

Another drawback of Quidditch was the division of the houses.

People went all-out to support their team. When Peter arrived on Saturday morning after his patrol, he was stunned to find nearly every student participating in a cold war. On one side, there was the Hufflepuff yellow, and on the other was Ravenclaw blue; no one mixing, and no one speaking.

Faces were painted, banners were made, and Cal - who took every opportunity he could to try and impress Amelia - didn't even look in her direction.

"That's actually not that bad." Peter thought to himself. Cal often made a fool of himself in those situations.

The division was far from ideal, but it paled in comparison to his own dilemma.

Michelle wouldn't talk to him.

Peter wasn't unaware that she often fell silent around him, but that was whenever they were one on one. With another student in their presence - let alone the entire school - Michelle just couldn't stop talking.

This, however, was different.

He waved, and she didn't wave back. He smiled, but she turned away immediately. He tried to start a conversation, but she wasn't having it.

Michelle wasn't angry with him - Peter knew that much. With the Ravenclaw colours she was wearing, it wouldn't have come off very well if they acted friendly towards one another.

"God knows she'll be like when we play against Slytherin."

"Remember," Teddy said to him as he joined the team at the Hufflepuff table. "Gryffindor made it to two hundred and sixty points last week, so you can't catch the snitch until we have at least a hundred and ten."

"Well, how long is that gonna take?"

The weekends were always reserved for his duties as Spider-Man, which had taken a bit of a hit since he started attending Hogwarts full-time. Between homework, studying, and working at the Daily Bugle, Peter couldn't exactly afford to take some time for himself.

"Hard to say." Will chimed in. "It depends on how their keeper's feeling today."

The whole team looked over to the Ravenclaw table. Their keeper, Alexander, was showing no sign of nerves. Even with him sitting down, the seventh year appeared to be taller than Peter, paired with disproportionately long arms that were ideal for protecting the goal posts.

Abel then called Alexander something that would have made Aunt May pass out. In return, Clara, the Chaser, elbowed him.

"What?" Abel said, rubbing his side. "He's always been a -"

Clara glared at him.

"- a cock." he finished, which was definitely an improvement on what he originally said. "We were all thinking it! We've only beaten him twice in the past five years."

No pressure there.

"We'll be fine." Teddy said as a matter of fact. "We're the better team. All we have to do is play a fair game, and everything else should just fall into place. Everyone, finish off your breakfast, and then we'll head down to the locker room."

"I'm not hungry." Peter mumbled, pushing away his plate.

"You need your strength, mate." Will said. "Seekers never go a whole match without getting clobbered by the other team."

"Super strength." he reminded them. "Skipping breakfast once won't make a difference."

Michelle refusing to talk to him and the idea of making a fool of himself in front of the entire school didn't put him in much of a mood for food.

"At least drink something." Teddy said in a tone that reminded him of Aunt May. "How 'bout pumpkin juice? Coffee? Tea?"

Peter always hated the taste of coffee, and the pumpkin juice sitting across from him didn't smell too appetizing. If all it took to appease Teddy's motherly instincts was a simple cup of tea, so be it.

"Fine." he conceded. "Tea, please."

***

By ten o’clock, that entire school had turned out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars, and were bundled up in their hats and scarves. The seats might be raised high in the air, but Peter suspected it would still be difficult to see what was going on sometimes. In practice, they never stayed close to the ground.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Peter and the rest of the team were changing into their Quidditch robes as Teddy held up a large diagram of the pitch. He drawn many lines, arrows, and crosses in different colored inks that Peter couldn't make heads or tails of.

Their captain took out his wand, tapped the board, and the arrows began to wiggle over the diagram. As he broke into his pre-match spiel, Peter's mind raced as he tried to remember all he could.

Will was the Keeper, who had to stop the other team from scoring. Cal and Jack were the Beaters, responsible for protecting the team from Bludgers - the two balls that flew around trying to knock people off their brooms.

The only concept Peter could fully grasp were the Chasers, the position held by Teddy, Abel, and Clara.

"A hundred and ten points, a hundred and ten points." he repeated over and over again until it was time to start the match.

The weather seemed perfect for flying. There wasn't any wind to blow him off course, and not a single cloud in the sky. There had been a bit of fog covering the field earlier, but luckily it had disappeared. It was a little cold outside, but Peter wasn't complaining.

They walked out onto the pitch to tumultuous roars and boos. Just like the Great Hall, one end of the stadium was solid yellow; the other a sea of blue. Most of the Slytherin's, it seemed, were in support of Ravenclaw, while Gryffindor was on the side of Hufflepuff.

Amidst all the yelling and clapping Peter looked up into the stands to Michelle, taking off his glasses for a moment to see her more clearly. Aside from keeping up the illusion of his powers, the glasses helped keep his senses somewhat normal. It was only at great distances that things became normal.

Teddy stepped up to Madam Hooch, the referee, who was standing ready to release the balls from the shaking crate.

"Captains shake hands," she said, and Teddy walked up with a smile to the unkind looking Alexander. "Mount your brooms. On the whistle…three…two…one…"

The whistle sounded, Peter and the others kicked off hard from the ground, and they were away.

He held his breath as he ascended slowly, air rushing through his hair and robes. Peter felt the old broom shaking in his hands, barely keeping together. It was the only broom they were able to get him, and for a very clear reason; no one could fly this thing properly, let alone someone with his lack of experience.

"Looks like Parker's off to a slow start this morning." a voice boomed around the Quidditch pitch.

Peter looked towards the commentator’s podium to see a Hufflepuff girl he recognized from a few of his classes; Heather... something. He always thought of her as nice, and there was clearly no ill-intent with her comments. After all, it was true.

"Abel Jones takes the Quaffle immediately, throws it ahead to Teddy Lupin. The Ravenclaw Chasers try to swarm him but he breaks away easily. Teddy catches Alexander with the fake, tosses it off to the trailing Clara who scores! Ten points for Hufflepuff! No time to celebrate, I'm afraid. Ravenclaw's got the Quaffle in their possession and you know Alexander won't fall for that again."

Peter was now higher than everyone else, having a bird's-eye view of everything going on. The broom was still shaking, but the tighter his grip got, the less noticeable it was. He would be fine for the time being.

"There you are." he said to himself as his eye caught the snitch, flying close to the ground. The other Seeker was on the opposite side of the pitch, and looking in the other direction; he had no idea where it was. If he went for it, Peter would have to stop him.

All Peter had to do was wait until they were at a hundred and ten to catch the snitch. They also couldn't be down by any more than a hundred and forty, otherwise it would have resulted in a tie.

“Oh, and here comes Ravenclaw’s first attempt on goal. Angela streaking down the pitch, the throw looks good, and... no! Will Jones comes out of nowhere and saves it! Great Quidditch on this Hufflepuff team, three of them coming from the Jones family. If you turn your attention to the northern stands, you'll see Will's sister, Michelle, who's wearing Ravenclaw blue! That must make things a little awkward."

Michelle grinned, and flipped off Heather while causing the professors to glare at her.

"Alexander snatches the Quaffle from Abel! Throws it down the pitch to Martin and catches Will off guard! The teams are now tied with ten points each!"

The score didn't stay even for long.

With half an hour of the game gone, Ravenclaw were leading by seventy points.

Peter now understood why Abel held such resentment for Alexander; who had made some truly spectacular saves - although he didn't want to admit it.

The Ravenclaw strategy was working perfectly against Will, who couldn't do a thing against all three Chasers rushing him at once.

With all this time gone, Peter hadn't done a thing. He still had his eyes glued to the Snitch, and the other Seeker never caught a glimpse of it.

The sound of Madam Hooch’s whistle came, and the teams ceased moving. Peter looked over to Teddy who was gesturing him to the ground. The whole team slowly descended, huddling at the edge of the field around their captain.

“I called for a time out.” Teddy said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "We're not gonna be able to cut into this lead, I can tell you that much, but we can try and keep it under a hundred and fifty. Peter, I know you're keeping an eye on the Snitch, but I need you to come down and fly with us. It'll give them one more person to worry about. Get the Quaffle out of their hands if you can, and try not to get hit by a Bludger. All we need are four more goals, and you can end the game."

Peter didn't have enough time to protest. The whistle came again, and the game was back on.

With a roar from the crowd, the fourteen players rose toward the sky. Before, Peter flew higher than any of them, but this time, he stayed on their level.

"You all right there, Spider-Boy?!" A Slytherin called from the stands.

As he turned to face them, Peter felt a familiar tingle in the back of his head. On instinct, he extended his arm behind him, and caught the heavy black Bludger with his bare hand. By the time he was able to bring it to a complete stop, it was less than an inch from his head.

"Close one, Peter!" Cal said, streaking past him with the club in his hand. "Throw it my way!"

Peter launched it in his direction, and Cal sent the iron ball towards Ravenclaw's Keeper. Alexander swerved to avoid it, leaving Teddy to get an uncontested goal.

“Parker caught the Bludger!" Heather shouted into the mic. "What a fantastic play from Hufflepuff! Ravenclaw leads a hundred and fifty to eighty."

A blue streak caught his eye and broke his attention off of the commentary. It was the other Seeker speeding off, and this time, he wasn't flying aimlessly. This time, he had spotted something.

"And I think Cornelius of Ravenclaw has spotted the Snitch! Yes, he's definitely going after something!"

Peter whipped around and fixed his eyes on the other boy. His hand was reached out, getting closer and closer to the tiny gold ball. They weren't at a hundred and ten yet, but he couldn't risk losing Hufflepuff their first game.

He accelerated as much as he could; the wind was whistling in his ears so that it drowned all sound of the crowd cheering and booing, but Cornelius was still ahead of him, and there wasn't a chance Peter could catch up on his broom.

The Snitch dived to the ground, slipping away from the hand chasing him. Cornelius descended, and Peter went after him into the wooden scaffolding underneath the stands.

"Wait a second..." he said to himself, turning to face the walls.

Peter grinned, and swung his leg to the other side of his broom. His feet stuck to the wall, and he began running sideways, gaining on the other Seeker and the Snitch.

Cornelius couldn't catch it. He just couldn't. Peter wouldn't let him.

The two were side by side, both reaching an arm out to win the game.

Peter made a dive for it, crashing into Cornelius, sending them flying back onto the Quidditch pitch. With a thud, they landed on the ground, groaning. The crowd had fallen silent, all eyes on them to see which one had caught the Snitch.

Peter opened his hand, smiling at the small gold ball.

Madam Hooch’s whistle sounded. Peter rolled over on his back and saw six yellow robes hovering over him, celebrating. High above in the stands, he could hear the roars of the Hufflepuff crowd and the disappointed shouts from the Ravenclaw supporters.

"So, you can really stick to anything?" his opponent asked weakly.

"Nothing's stopped me so far."

"But how does it work through your shoes?"

Peter hesitated.

"That's... a really good question... You know I've never really thought about that until now."

The final score was two hundred and forty to a hundred and fifty, putting Hufflepuff in second place just behind Gryffindor. Clara had managed to score again in the time it took him to go after the Snitch, putting them only twenty points from their target.

"There's a party back at the common room." Teddy said as the Hufflepuff team was back in the changing room. "You coming along, Peter?"

He glanced at the bench; the Sling Ring sitting on top of his crumpled up suit.

"I'll come around if I can."

Peter waited until he was the last person in the changing room. Unburdening himself from his Quidditch robes, he sat down with a huff and took out his phone.

His eyes widened, throat going dry as Peter stared at his notifications.

During the match, Jameson had tried to get a hold of him eleven times.


	12. Chapter 12

Like so many times in Peter's life, his Parker Luck decided to strike at the most inopportune moment. On this day, however, it wasn't one big disaster, but a combination of small disasters that quickly piled up.

Firstly, Peter had misplaced his camera, and due to the inability to use magic outside of school, it was nearly impossible to find. He would have thought the lack of possessions in his room made it easy, but somehow, Peter managed to screw up simple organization. After ten minutes of searching, Peter finally found his camera underneath a pile of laundry he'd been meaning to do for the past week.

The second disaster came not a minute later. Deciding that dropping in the middle of the Daily Bugle office via Sling Ring lacked the subtlety he desired, Peter settled on the alleyway just outside the building. Long-story-short, he ended up landing in a dumpster, the laundry pile in his room getting a little bit larger, smelling terrible, and not having enough time to shower.

Pair these with a failed car thief shouting at him upside down, an ungrateful car owner shouting at him, a pedestrian shouting at him for only God knows what reason, and a half hour gone without setting foot in the Bugle, Peter had just enough misfortune to declare this a Parker Luck day.

Practically hearing Jameson's shouting from the lobby, Peter squeezed into the elevator and put on his glasses, trying his best to ignore the glares coming his way.

If the other occupants could have moved further away from him, they would have. Honestly, given the smell, Peter didn't blame them.

When he exited the elevator, he wasn't greeted by an angry Jameson. On the contrary, the entire floor was silent.

"Damn it, Peter." Eddie sighed, grabbing him by the shoulder, leading him towards Jameson's office. "Do you know how long I've been looking for you? Another five minutes and I would have called the cops; you haven't been answering your phone."

"Sorry I couldn't pick up. I was in school."

Eddie stopped in his tracks, turning to Peter with his brows furrowed.

"It's eight in the morning... on a Saturday."

With the time difference between Hogwarts and New York, Peter forgot how early it was. But if it was eight o'clock, that would have meant Jameson had started calling just after six.

"Why" he asked, not bothering to come up with a believable excuse. "does Jameson want us coming in this early?"

Eddie said nothing, adjusting his tie and -- since when did he wear a tie? Peter had never seen him in anything other than dark jeans, the same black shirt, and his leather jacket. Eddie never combed his hair like he apparently did today, and his clothes actually looked professional. More out of character was the colourfulness of it all.

"Are we meeting someone important?"

Peter's question was answered the second they stepped into Jameson's office.

An unmistakable silhouette - tall, thin, and sickly - stood in the corner, and slowly came into the light, revealing a yellow-toothed man in a green and purple suit.

"There you are, Parker!" Jameson exclaimed. "Where the hell were you, kid, you've kept Mr. Osborn waiting!"

"I --"

"Never mind, don't answer that. I don't care anymore."

Mr. Osborn advanced, the same disingenuous smile on his face from the field trip. He extended a hand to them that appeared frail, but didn't shake. Peter could already feel how cold it was.

"Eddie Brock, nice to finally meet you." he said without interest in his voice, instead fixing his eyes on Peter. "Who do we have here?"

Jameson cleared his throat, walking around his desk and standing behind Eddie and Peter.

"This is the photographer I was telling you about; the science whiz."

" _This_ is Peter Parker?" Mr. Osborn asked, Jameson confirming with a nod. "The way you talked about him, I was expecting someone a little... older."

"Aww, Mr. Jameson, you talk about me?"

"Don't push your luck." he growled.

They all sat down - Mr. Osborn in Jameson's chair while the three Daily Bugle workers were on the other side. Peter didn't know how to react seeing his boss on their end; delight so he'd get the chance to be on the receiving end of things, or fear. If someone intimidated Jameson enough to make him give up his chair... that thought was better off left alone.

"I'm sure you're all familiar with my company, Oscorp Industries."

Peter, Jameson, and Eddie nodded.

"Then you know what kind of work we do. Tony Stark may fly around in a metal suit, but it's nowhere near as impressive as what our R&D team has been working on. In the past nine months, we've made unbelievable advancements in biological engineering, and have obtained dozens on military contracts. This, of course, has all occurred behind closed doors, and the public has yet to be informed of our tremendous success.

"Oscorp PR has suggested releasing an official company statement, but those are often... exaggerated. I want people to know the facts. _Just_ the facts, so they can realize Oscorp's value for themselves. And who better to publish this story than the Daily Bugle?"

Jameson clapped.

"I couldn't have said it better, Mr. Osborn! It's like I always say; the Daily Bugle only prints facts!"

'And whatever it takes to connect the facts together.' Peter thought, thinking of the multiple Spider-Man articles he'd approved over the past few months.

"That's wonderful to hear." Osborn said, pulling a cheque book from his breast pocket. He scribbled a number down with his pen, sliding it over to the two other adults while making sure to conceal it from Peter. "I believe you'll find a relationship with Oscorp to be very beneficial."

***

The benefits Mr. Osborn spoke of were immediate. Waiting for Peter and Eddie just outside the Daily Bugle building was one of Oscorp's vehicles (that more likely than not costed ten times their yearly rent - and that was his smallest guess), ready to take them to the facility in Manhattan.

Midtown's field trip allowed very little access, so when Peter entered the Oscorp building for the second time, he was not only taken aback by how much they were keeping from the public, but what and where.

Peter and Eddie were led down an empty corridor, but not before they had to verify their identities and sign a non-disclosure agreement. Adding to the eeriness of it all, the elevator they entered refused to move until Mr. Osborn entered a passcode and scanned his fingerprints.

"Your biological engineering," Peter said. "are you still using spiders in your super soldier program?"

Mr. Osborn turned to Peter with his eyebrow raised. With the permanent scowl on his face, it was impossible to tell his reaction.

"So, you've been following our research. And you understood it all?"

"I wrote a paper on it for school." he nodded.

"Impressive." A grin spread onto his thin face. "Our performance-enhancers have been a major focus for quite some time. But without a successful human trial after all this time, we've resorted to different methods. I assure you both; the performance-enhancers are nothing compared to what we have in store for you today."

"You mentioned Oscorp was working with the military back at the Bugle." Eddie cut in. "If you're asking me to write an article on this, wouldn't that be a breach of contract?"

The elevator came to a sudden stop on the forty-first floor, the door opening after a quiet ding.

"It would be." Mr. Osborn confirmed, stepping outside and pulling on a lab coat. "Which is why I expect you two to keep quiet when it comes to certain projects. But this one should make your readers very excited."

They stepped up to a long board resting on a table, the colour reminding Peter of the whitish silver of the Pensieve. The shape resembled that of a snowboard, possessing two stirrups to lock one's feet into place.

"Hoverboard?" Peter guessed.

"Good eye, Parker. Down here, we've taken to calling it the Glider. The stats on this thing are unprecedented; capable of doing a hundred and eighty miles per hour flat-out, can go from zero to sixty in point-eight seconds, great maneuverability, and can support up to four hundred pounds while maintaining altitude. Now, Mr. Science whiz, what can _you_ tell me about this invention?"

Peter reached out a hand, looking to Mr. Osborn for permission before grabbing the Glider. Even without using his strength, he found it to be incredibly light. Flipping it over, Peter examined the engine, mainly focusing on the wiring that was left exposed.

"It's voice-activated?"

"... go on."

He glanced across the room, noticing a pair of glasses being tended to by a large group of other engineers.

"Radio-linked controls are integrated into those glasses over there. If they're anything like the one's you debuted at the Stark Expo last year, they have a head-up display; probably helping the user navigate."

Peter flipped it right-side up again, moving to the stirrups.

"These things lock electromagnetically."

"The boots were the first things we designed, yes. They'll be available for purchase by January of next year; for a fair price too. No emissions either, so that's another point in our favour. To keep it running on a sunny day, we also plan to add solar panels. You, gentlemen, are the first to witness the future of transportation. Not including Oscorp employees, that is."

"You mean to say these Gliders are going to be mass produced?" Eddie said as he scribbled down the details on his notepad.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Mr. Brock. But this, at the moment, is the only one we have."

Eddie was only getting started with his questioning. He could comb his hair, avoid wearing dark clothing, and put on a tie, but that didn't change the kind of person he was underneath. Eddie Brock didn't trust people - especially people like Norman Osborn - no matter how much he wanted to impress them.

"Well maybe you should keep it that way."

Mr. Osborn appeared quite insulted.

"Meaning?"

"What's the point of all of this? The flying's cool, don't get me wrong. But allowing people to go about the city on these things? They could go anywhere. They could do anything. And you say it's" Eddie waved his hand in front of him dramatically while putting on a poor impression of Mr. Osborn " _the future of transportation!_ But I can't help but wonder the kind of military applications these Gliders could have.

"What if someone decided to mount weapons on these? High altitude, a hundred and eighty miles per hour? If I wanted to outrun the authorities, this is what I'd take. Even without weapons, who's to say people won't get hurt using them? What if they crashed into something, or - God forbid - _someone?"_

Mr. Osborn glared at Eddie.

"You raise some valid, Brock. But you see, with voice-activation, there's nothing that could possibly go wrong in flight; we have safety measures to ensure it. And to put your mind at ease, systems have been installed to detect malfunctions, which are able to successfully land the Glider before shutting down. Hell, it's so simple a child could fly it."

"No argument against the weapons, huh?"

"Because it's something that Oscorp can't be held responsible for. Practically every advancement in technology could be used for violence, but that all comes down to the individual, and I choose to have a little hope in my fellow man. Maybe you should try looking for the best in people, Mr. Brock."

Eddie smirked, turning on his heal and beginning to walk about the lab, fiddling with every little thing he passed. Peter looked away, trying to make himself as small as he could. With any luck, he wouldn't have any attention drawn to himself - unlike Eddie.

"Relax, Norman, I'm just asking some questions... like... the performance enhancers. No successful human trial, which means... what, exactly? That your test subjects didn't receive any of the abilities you were trying to give them, or..." he held out his phone, presenting an older article. "they died."

"A loss I am very sorry for. But if you read the entire article instead of the headline, you would know the subjects only had months to live, and took the performance enhancers willingly."

"Oh, I definitely read it. The spiders caused people to die within twenty-four hours of getting bitten, but only after a long night of vomiting, high fever, hallucinations, and eventually losing their sight. That's hardly a peaceful way to go."

Eddie was shouting now. Everyone in the lab had dropped what they were doing to stare at him, backing away whenever he got close to them.

"What about Spider-Man? Huh, Norman? Kind of funny that his first appearance in the Daily Bugle coincides with this announcement of yours. 'Due to minimal success in our performance enhancing spiders, Oscorp will be moving on to different methods' blah, blah, blah, some other bullshit."

Peter held onto his bag tightly. No one knew that his suit was buried underneath his books, and he prayed it would stay that way.

"Spider-Man intrigues me, yes. But the idea that Oscorp is responsible for his creation, you could not be more wrong. I was surprised as anyone to see him climbing up the side of a wall."

Eddie shrugged him off, pushing an engineer out of the way to pick something off of his workbench.

"Now, here's the good stuff!" he laughed, tossing the orange object to Mr. Osborn. Peter looked over his shoulder to see what it was. "Hand grenades, right?"

"They're strictly for military use."

This too went ignored. Mr. Osborn decided now was a good time to call security.

"How many skeletons have you got in your closet, Norman?" Eddie asked, walking up to a lone container in the corner, tapping on the glass. Peter could only see a black, gooey substance inside, but what alarmed him was that it was moving by itself.

"Keep away from that, Brock!"

Two of Mr. Osborn's men came up behind Eddie, trying to grab him by the arms.

"Hey, hey, don't touch me!" he huffed, storming towards the elevator. "I know my way out of here."

Peter wanted to follow him, but he thought it best to wait until Eddie calmed down. Based on past experiences, Eddie just needed five minutes alone. It wasn't the first time he lashed out at someone he was supposed to be doing a story on.

"Sorry about that, Mr. Osborn." Peter ran a hand through his hair, gesturing to the now closed elevator door. "I'll, uh... I'll get the next one."

"You're leaving so soon?"

Mr. Osborn didn't sound angry as he did a few seconds ago. With Eddie gone, he had seemingly reverted back to the reserved state he held before.

"I think we've overstayed our welcome, sir."

"Well, that's unfortunate. I was rather enjoying our conversation." he said, taking a card from his pocket and handing it to Peter. "We should talk some other time. I can think of a few projects I'd like to hear your opinion on."

"Really?"

"Don't look so surprised. If you weren't still in high school, I would have hired you already. You clearly have an eye for engineering and those don't come around often. Your parents must be very proud of you."

His eyes shifted to the side and became wet. Peter turned away immediately, rubbing them dry.

Peter's lower lip quivered as words slowly made their way out of his mouth. “They’re..." he began, but stopped himself. Clearing his throat and clenching his fists, he sighed, turning back to Mr. Osborn. "My Unc... my dad passed away a few months ago."

To be honest, Peter barely remembered his parents. The only memory that remained clear to him was the day they left him with Aunt May and Uncle Ben, promising him they would be back in a few days.

As far as he was concerned, they'd done very little to raise him. Every moral Peter had, every good or bad quality, even his taste in music of all insignificant things, came from his aunt and uncle. They were the one's who took him in as their own, and treated him like a son.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Peter."

What was so surprising was that Mr. Osborn actually sounded genuine. Whenever people heard about Uncle Ben, they always said the same thing. It was just something they were supposed to do. Except for Ned, no one really felt sorry for him and Aunt May.

***

So, originally, there was going to be a lot more happening in this chapter, but I thought this was a good place to end it.

In better news, this might be getting updated more often. It all depends on my workload in school, but so far so good.


	13. Chapter 13

Christmas was coming. One morning in the early days of December, Peter woke up to find Queens had covered itself in several feet of snow; so much that Ned had texted him that Midtown was getting the day off of school. He invited him over to hang out, but the students attending Hogwarts weren't so lucky. Since they all lived in the castle, there was never a need to cancel classes, no matter how much snow there was.

Peter was getting much more use out of the scarf Michelle had made him, wearing it as he walked between classes, helped Aunt May with the groceries, and even during Quidditch practice.

Yes; he was still on the team. Despite his claim to only play for one match, Peter found that he had fallen in love with the game, and couldn't quit. And, in the grand scheme of things, it barely made an impact on his schedule.

It didn't take long until winter arrived at Hogwarts as well. While the Hufflepuff common room was always warm with a fire going, the corridors of Hogwarts had become icy; the winds constantly rattling the windows of the classrooms. More often than not, Peter could see his breath rise as a mist.

The worst of all the classrooms was Professor Slughorn’s, because it was located down in the dungeons. The Hogwarts dungeons were already freezing cold without the winter season interfering. Michelle had told him an old trick was to keep close to the hot cauldrons in order to stay a little bit warm.

"How are you doing that so fast?" Will asked him, leaning over to get a better look at his potion that had already turned dusty red colour. Peter looked around the classroom, and as usual, no one had gotten as far as he had. Except for Michelle, that is.

Potions had quickly taken the position of Peter's favourite class, which was previously held by Defence Against the Dark Arts. He and Michelle had taken to competing with one another to see who could finish the potion the fastest, and make it the best. As a result, Potions class had become even more entertaining.

"Don't distract him, Will." Michelle said, not looking up from her own potion as she stirred it methodically. Not wanting to fall behind, Peter rapidly chopped up his roots and tossed them into his cauldron, the potion immediately turning lilac.

"Peter, my boy," Professor Slughorn popped out of nowhere, coming to their clump of desks. "excellent work - as usual. You too, Miss Jones. I dare say you're better potion-makers than most of my seventh year students!"

Michelle was smiling to herself, but turned away quickly when she noticed Peter was looking at her, accidentally knocking her scale to the ground with a loud clatter.

She was very prone to knocking things over, which came as no surprise to him. After all, when he first met her she fell out of her chair.

Michelle quickly dived under her desk to retrieve it, emerging as if nothing had happened.

"Looking forward to the holidays, are we?" Slughorn asked the two of them.

Every student in Hogwarts couldn't wait for the holidays to start; every student except for Peter, that is.

It was the first time they would be spending Christmas without Uncle Ben, and it had already taken its toll on Aunt May. Peter had heard her crying through the walls every night for the past week. Every now and then, he would wake up in the morning and find her sitting in the living room, and she didn't get a wink of sleep all night.

Things weren't very different from the early days of Ben's passing; Peter was back to taking care of Aunt May, making sure she was getting enough to eat, doing the majority of the work around the apartment, and putting in extra hours at the Bugle. Jameson was nice enough to pay him in advance this week... again... for the fifth week in a row... just in time for them to pay their rent.

"Yeah." Peter lied, not sure what else to say.

'Lovely..." Slughorn trailed off, painfully obvious he was looking for a more descriptive answer. "What about you, Miss Jones? Family going to Ireland again?"

"Haven't decided where we're going yet." Michelle answered.

"But it's definitely not Ireland." Will added. "Uncle Adam's... not allowed to go back."

Slughorn smiled fondly at the mention of their uncle, chuckling to himself.

***

Once the holidays had actually started, Peter was having too good a time with Ned to think much about his troubles.

As usual, they had the entire Leeds house to themselves, and the streets of Queens were far emptier than usual, so they were able to do whatever they wanted with the snow; some days they organized a snowball fight with anyone who was willing to participate. Other days, they attempted to build a life-sized Millennium Falcon (it never worked).

Peter and Ned didn't want to spend the entirety of their break outside. With Spider-Man-ing still in the mix, it made time for relaxing even more rare.

Whenever Aunt May had to go to work, Ned came over to the apartment, a bag in his hand containing whatever his parents could spare. Those days were spent sitting on the couch by the hour eating anything they could and coming up with ways of getting Flash into trouble.

It was always fun to talk about, even though their ideas would never work.

"How's Flash been?" Peter asked, speaking through a mouth stuffed with marshmallows. "You know, since the whole..."

"Blown up like a beach ball thing?" Ned confirmed. "He's just been a dick, so the usual. I'm actually glad your friends erased his memory, otherwise he would never have shut up about it."

Peter had pretty much told Ned everything about the wizarding world - except the fact that they were wizards. His guesses weren't far off though. When he first heard about erasing people's memory, he immediately thought of Men in Black, which lead to them watching the entire Men in Black trilogy.

Technically speaking, Peter wasn't breaking his promise to Professor McGonagall.

And it was Ned; he couldn't lie to Ned.

"What about the decathlon team?"

"Not the same without you." Ned said wearily. "Liz had to bring up Flash's minutes to take your place, and she got Betty to join to bring up the numbers."

Peter paused their game.

"Betty Brant?"

"Is there another Betty in Midtown?"

"I know she's the only German one." he smirked, grabbing his mug to conceal it.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Ned asked, averting his gaze briefly.

"It's just a thought." Peter shrugged. "You're taking German next semester, so if you need someone to tutor you, you know who to ask. But you already figured that out, didn't you."

Ned punched him on the arm, causing him to choke on his drink.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Peter coughed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Even then, he couldn't contain his laughter. "But you _do_ like her, don't you?"

"Well... I don't know... a little, maybe?"

They had met Betty Brant at about the same time they met each other; kindergarten. In that decade or so, Peter couldn't remember having an actual conversation with her.

Ned was about the same.

They said 'hi' occasionally, worked well together when they were in group projects, and she was noticeably nicer than most people in the school. Even though Peter didn't know much about her, it wasn't difficult to see why Ned liked her. It also wasn't difficult to get him to start talking about her.

"Well, when you left Midtown, she just... started sitting at are table. Didn't want me being alone, you know?"

"She's not sitting in my spot, is she?"

Ned glared at him.

"Right, that's not important."

Their game forgotten, they spent the next hour (at least it felt like an hour) talking about Betty. Peter never thought he'd be learning this much about a girl he'd interacted with a handful of times. Ned couldn't stop smiling, and if talking about her made him that happy, she must have been good for him.

"Give me your phone." Peter said, interrupting yet another rant of his.

"Why?" Ned asked, but he handed it over anyway.

"You're asking her if she wants to hang out." he said simply, typing in the passcode. "Well, I'm asking her if she wants to hang out, but it's on your behalf."

Ned's eyes widened, and he lunged at Peter to grab his phone. Peter easily avoided this, and jumped to the ceiling.

"Dude, come on!"

He paid no attention to his words. Peter wanted Ned to be this happy all the time, and this was the best way to go about it.

"What should we text her? Like, should it say _hey, let's hang out tonight,_ or _do you want to hang out some time? are you doing anything tonight?"_

"Neither!" Ned cried, taking another swipe for the phone which he missed.

"I mean, _let's hang out tonight_ sounds like you're telling her you're hanging out tonight, and honestly, if I got a text like that, I'd feel like I couldn't say no. But it's a little pushy, and I think you're supposed to ask her out, not tell her you're going out. What do you think?"

"I think you're insane!"

"Yeah, you're right. We'll just say _do you want to hang out some time?_ It's simple, it keeps your options open, it's perfect! … I think. Fuck, girls are complicated." Peter typed in the message. "But, you know what they say: you gotta shoot your shot."

"It's not my shot!"

"It's shot from your phone; trust me, she won't know the difference." He hit send, and tossed the phone back to a horrified Ned. "No need to thank me."

Ned said nothing, but he was clearly furious with Peter. Peter on the other hand didn't care. The second he saw his previous texts to Betty, he knew she liked his best friend. Betty wouldn't have started hanging out with Ned if she didn't, and friends definitely didn't text friends at three in the morning for 'help with homework'.

He opened his mouth, probably to yell at him, but remained silent when a ding came from the phone.

"She wants to hang out tonight..." Ned said, jumping up and down with excitement. He lunged at Peter again, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

"You heard me say 'no need to thank me' right?" Peter managed to ask, breathing heavily once Ned let him go.

"Holy shit!" Ned cursed, pacing. "If this didn't work out, I'd be really pissed at you."

His phone dinged again, and he was brought back to panic. Ned held it out, allowing Peter to read Betty's latest text: _where do u wanna go?_

"Okay." Peter breathed out. "Poor spelling aside, it looks pretty good to me."

"What should I say?" Ned asked, pushing the phone into his hands.

Peter gave it back immediately.

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because the last time you texted her she said she wanted to hang out."

From there, they began tossing the phone back and forth.

"So? I can only show you the door. You're the one that has to walk through it."

"Don't pull that Morpheus shit with me! And I'm pretty sure girls are way more complicated than The Matrix!"

Peter flopped down on the couch, groaning.

"Ned, I'm not sure if you've noticed this, but I'm not very good when it comes to girls. If you don't count Aunt May, I'm friends with only one girl, and she's either mad at me, thinks I'm a complete idiot, or won't talk to me; sometimes all three at the same time."

Ned raised his eyebrows, sliding his phone into his pocket.

"Which girl are we talking about...?"

"No one you know." Peter said, running a hand through his hair. "She's just a girl who goes to my school - my new school. I mean... she's not _just_ a girl, she's the smartest in our school, easily. She's... you know what? Never mind."

He was trying to steer the topic back to Betty, but Ned wasn't having any of it.

"Come on, tell me." he sat next to him, nudging him with his elbow. "What's her name?"

"Michelle. She's cool, but I'd be lying if I said she wasn't a bit of a klutz. She's always falling or knocking stuff over. And she gets embarrassed a lot; I swear, when Michelle blushes it looks like her face is glowing."

It was Ned's turn to smirk, but Peter didn't understand why.

"Is she like that all the time?" he asked slowly. "Or is it just when you're around?"

Michelle only acted that way when it was just the two of them - and Peter noticed this ages ago. When her brother or cousins were around, she was... he didn't really know how to describe it. Apathetic, maybe? Except when they were talking about Quidditch or house elves or something else she was passionate about.

"Only when I'm around, I guess. But it wasn't always like that. It just started out of the blue."

Finally, they went back to figuring out what to text Betty, sitting like that for 10 minutes before he felt Ned shake the couch slightly.

He ignored it at first. Peter didn’t think much of it, and tried his best to ignore it, but after a few minutes of continuous shaking, he realized what Ned was doing.

“Okay, shut up, Ned, I know your laughing at me. What's up?”

“I’m not laughing.” his argument was non-existent because he was clearly snickering.

“Ned...”

“Well - and no offence - I always thought you were kind of an idiot."

“What's that supposed to mean?"

Ned just rolled his eyes and nudged him again.

“Don't try to read into it too much, you'll just get a headache."

***

And just like that, I'm officially off school for the rest of the year :) I'm hoping to get this updated sooner rather than later.


	14. Chapter 14

Goods news! And, even better news: there's no bad news to go along with the good news.

Unless you're a fan of pointless filler chapters.

So, I need to finish this thing by June (I got accepted to a couple schools and that's awesome, really takes the worry off getting rejected from other places since I still have somewhere to go) and I can't waste it building up to the points where I want to get to.

For this chapter, it takes place _after_ Peter's fourth year at Hogwarts in the summer. I'm skipping over all that to get to the actual point of things, which is Norman Osborn becoming the Green Goblin. I'd say "spoilers" but that was clearly where I was going with this.

From here on out, I'm going to focus strictly on the major points of the story/moments I've wanted to happen from Peter's fifth year to his seventh year.

The chapters will get much shorter, but I'm reverting back to my old method. Shorter chapters lead to more frequent updates, and finishing the story quicker. And I posted the first chapter almost a year ago (that really went by quickly for me) and I haven't even got to the main part of the story. This whole thing has felt like I'm writing a prequel so far.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

***

Peter woke up late the next morning, still dressed in his suit. By the time he came home from patrol last night, he barely made it through the window before he collapsed onto the blood-stained mattress.

With a groan, he peeled his mask off and tossed it across the room, joining the growing pile of laundry in the corner. Like the rest of his clothes, Peter had no intention of cleaning it any time soon, but in its current condition...

Peter's hand went across his torso, fiddling with the tear to assess the damage, but only made it worse in the process. A loud rip came, and the Spider-Man suit became unrecognizable, with half of it on his body and the other half bunched up in his hand.

"Shit." he rubbed his bandaged chest and dropped his suit to the ground.

After pulling on a fresh set of clothes, Peter headed for the kitchen to find his aunt sitting at the table. Much like himself, she too had clearly had a late night. Aunt May hadn't gotten a chance to change, and her arms were folded on top of the table, using them as a makeshift pillow.

He said nothing; the snoring made it clear she wouldn't be getting up any time soon.

Peter carefully placed his arms around her and picked his aunt up with ease, carrying May back to her and Ben's room. After setting her on the bed and pulling the blanket over her, Peter went over to the window to close the curtains.

He stopped, glancing down at the photos resting on the ledge; the most prominent being a gold-plated frame, the sun reflecting off of it directly into Peter's eyes. Blinded for a moment, he picked it up, realizing that it was taken a Ben and May's wedding.

Over thirty years past, and they hadn't changed a bit. Of course, May and Ben didn't need glasses at the time, and it was long before their hairs started to turn grey, but both held the same smile; a smile she didn't have since the day...

Peter hastily put it back on the ledge and closed the curtains, leaving his aunt behind in the darkness, closing the door behind him (far louder than he intended to).

***

The incident with Eddie didn't lead to any bad blood between the Daily Bugle and Oscorp.

On the contrary, Peter and Mr. Osborn had been communicating regularly since then. Without knowing it, Norman had made many contributions to Spider-Man's tech, giving Peter pointers on his crime alert system that was set up around the city.

He got the sense Mr. Osborn was a very lonely man; Peter couldn't think of any other reason he wanted to keep him in his company. It certainly couldn't have been because of his intelligence.

While Norman often spoke highly of his abilities, he also had thousands of employees at his disposal, most of them working their whole lives to obtain their dream job working under the genius mind of Mr. Norman Osborn. Peter - compared to all those resources - was as small as a spider.

The summer was a big season for the tech industry. Those were the months where the Stark Expo was used the most; every major company signing up to unveil what they'd been working on over all this time, and Mr. Osborn was the first to have his name down.

Peter and - by extension - Ned were invited to witness this, having the best seats in the house. They were also right by the aisle, 'perfect for getting up on stage' as Norman put it. Peter asked what he meant by this, and he answered by mentioning how thankful he was with all the help he provided to improve the glider.

Another benefit provided by the billionaire was early access. Peter and Ned were able to get inside hours before anyone else was even able to show up. They could take their seats without having to wait in line, and that was just the beginning.

"Dude," Ned whispered, holding him by the shoulder and shaking him excitedly. "this is freakin' amazing!"

Mr. Osborn was able to bring Peter and Ned backstage where they were setting everything up, allowing them to take a look at all the inventions they would be presenting that day.

"Glad to see you appreciate our work, Mr. Leeds." Norman said with a grin, flashing his yellow teeth.

Peter's impression of him had changed over the past six months. Before, he had seen nothing but a selfish, untrustworthy business man. Now, he'd come to realize what kind of a man he really was.

"Excuse me, sir." one of the technicians came over to them. The young man looked as if he had been caught in a storm, completely drenched in sweat. Peter could feel the heat coming off of him six feet away, the floor appearing to sway beneath him. causing his legs to shake.

"are you all right, Mr. Kerr?" Norman asked, extending his hand and placing it on the technician to steady him.

"We - we're problems with - with the performance enhancers. There - there was a problem with one of the containment units and - and - and -"

"Calm down." Norman said, taking his face in his hands and instructing him to breath slowly. "Now, tell me what's happening."

"The um... one of the containment units failed when we were transporting them from Oscorp." the young man's hands were beginning to shake, and his face started looking green. "We weren't able to keep the doses at minus 70 degrees, and the... truck... it tried to get here fast enough to contain it, but it's turning... toxic... and..."

The technician collapsed to the floor; his entire body shaking and his skin green. His veins were forced up against his skin, glowing yellow. Norman, Peter, and Ned all stood there, not knowing how they could help him. He turned to vomit, blood mixed in with his lunch. The young man ceased moving, and took his last breath.

Norman looked around frantically, eyes falling on the containment unit for the performance enhancers that was leaking a green mist - hardly noticeable to the naked eye. He took the gliders mask from the table and placed his over his head. Now that he was wearing it, it was safe for him to breath. He ran towards the leak, trying to contain it.

Peter and Ned, meanwhile ran for the exit, heading out into the back alley where he could change into his newly repaired Spider-Man suit without being seen. Peter pulled his sweater over his head and dumped the contents of his bag on the ground, rummaging through it until he pulled out his mask.

"Call for help." he told Ned who immediately took out his phone. "Tell them to lock down the building; no one comes inside."

He pulled on his suit, hoping his mask would protect him from the green mist long enough to get everyone else out of the building. Just in case, Peter took a deep breath before entering, and slammed the door shut behind him.

There were people screaming inside, a couple of them turning the same shade of green as the technician, but those were the ones who'd been monitoring the container. Their fate was not completely the same as him; they were still breathing, though close to death.

Peter shot a web up and swung to the ceiling. The mist hadn't come up there yet; as long as he stayed up there, he didn't have to worry about getting infected.

Mr. Osborn was in the middle of the crowd, trying his best to contain the performance enhancers. The mist appeared to be fading away; there was a chance he could fix it, but Peter wasn't about to let him take the risk.

Peter shot a web and went back down, swinging past the ones who had stayed behind and grabbing as many as he could. He dropped them by the exit, telling them to leave.

"Why are you here?!" Norman shouted at Spider-Man, turning his attention away from the container. "Why are you making them leave?! I almost have it contained!"

He didn't listen to Mr. Osborn, continuing to get as many people as he could to safety.

"Sir, we need to leave!" Peter dropped beside him, grabbing him by the wrist. Norman pushed him away, the mask reducing his voice to a growl.

"I can still fix it! I've almost got the leak under control!"

"Norman!" Peter roared. He was going to get himself killed if he stayed any longer, and Norman wasn't going to leave willingly.

Peter couldn't let him stay behind and die. He shot a web at the source of the leak which sealed it, but the container started to shake violently. The pressure was building. Peter didn't fix anything. He only made it worse.

"We're leaving! Now!" Peter came at Norman from behind, holding him around the neck and trying to drag him away from the container. He dug his fingers into the fabric of Peter's suit, tearing it and drawing blood. Norman wouldn't stop struggling.

"LET - ME - GO!"

Norman moved so violently that he managed to break free from Peter's grip, and the gliders helmet slipped off. He fell forward towards the container. On impact, it broke, and Norman was bathed in the green mist - much more exposure than anyone else had.

Instantly his skin turned green, yellow veins forced up again his skin which became shriveled. Norman's body was shaking. More and more of the mist entered his body. He was inhaling it directly, and it was killing him. In seconds the mist was gone from the hair, but it found a new home inside Norman.

Peter pulled him out of the wreckage, putting him on his back. He felt his pulse; impossibly quick. His heart beating sounded as if it was about to burst, and his blood - now yellow - covered his face.


	15. Chapter 15

Everyone but Peter spent the rest of the night asleep.

While Mr. Osborn and the other infected were being treated in the ICU, Peter, Ned, and the rest of the Oscorp employees sat out in the waiting room. The others managed to fall asleep when night came, using each others shoulders as makeshift pillows and placing their feet up on the tables.

Peter, meanwhile, leaned against the wall, keeping himself deliberately uncomfortable. Past midnight his legs started to burn, but even then he didn't allow himself to sit down. Peter was determined not to fall into a doze, waiting for news on Mr. Osborn's condition. He'd pull through; he had to.

When Ned woke up, Peter pretended he just got up too. Hours had passed since the incident, and Peter never him the truth of what happened in there. Ned still didn't know whose fault it was.

Why did he have to try and plug it with a web? Why didn't he let Mr. Osborn try and fix it? If he didn't try to stop him, would things be any different? There's no guarantee Norman could have contained the leak, but even if he couldn't, would the effects been as severe? Even if he lived, what would his life be like now?

Oscorp's shares dropped to an all-time low over night. Mr. Osborn's condition, as well as rumours coming out about the company caused everything to come crashing down. Everything Mr. Osborn spent the last thirty-five years building was gone in one night.

Products were being recalled, the military announced they were no longer going to be dealing with Oscorp here on out, lawyers came to the hospital in the middle of the night to try and reduce the damage, but were turned away. Peter couldn't turn on the news without witnessing this PR disaster.

Gradually some of the infected began to wake up, but those were only the ones who received the least amount of exposure to the mist. Even as they were confined to their hospital beds, reporters didn't waste any time trying to get their statements, only adding more fuel to the fire.

Now, Peter wasn't just praying that Mr. Osborn survived; his life, it appeared, was ruined.

***

Summer came and went in the blink of an eye, and Mr. Osborn was still in a coma. Peter wasn't allowed to visit him - nobody was until they figured out what was wrong with him - but he came to the hospital every day to get an update on his condition.

There was never any change.

In an attempt to get his mind off of Mr. Osborn, Peter and Michelle sent letters back frequently over their two months apart. Her owl - Geronimo - got quite a workout flying between New York and Solihull on a regular basis. On nights where there was a storm or he was tired, Peter let him sleep in his room overnight.

Now, with one week left until his return to Hogwarts, Peter would be visiting Michelle and her family so they could get their books together at Diagon Alley.

As he prepared for the visit, Peter pulled out her latest letter, reading it over.

_Dear Peter,_

_Geronimo just got back, and I'm starting to think he likes staying at your place better than mine. I don't mind sharing, I just hope you're feeding him properly. If it wasn't for all the flying, I'm pretty sure he'd be fat by now._

_Anyway, my letter came the other day, and I didn't become a Prefect. Professor Slughorn wrote to me personally and said he thought someone more social would be better suited for the position. What the hell does that have to do with anything? Prefects are supposed to help the teachers enforce the rules, not make friends. Will told me it went to Ophelia Wilson - I'm going to have to hex her when I see her. But_ _Professor Slughorn said I was still his favourite student (told you I'd beat you)._

Peter thought back to their exams at Hogwarts. He'd achieved an Outstanding in Defence Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic (but that was all memory work and didn't take much effort) as well as Potions, but Michelle got a couple points higher on the exam.

With every other class, Peter exceeded expectations, except for Divination. Peter barely passed that course, and completely bombed the exam. He was pretty sure Professor Trelawney only passed him so he could join her class next year. If she couldn't make devastating predictions about his future, then what was the point of anything?

_Speaking of Professor Slughorn, I finally got my invitation to the Slug Club! I always knew I'd get in, but it's been a pain to wait. He only opens it to fifth year students. I heard you got in too! At least now I'll have someone to sit with that doesn't make me want to puke my guts out._

_I'll see you in Diagon Alley next week. And make sure you don't accidentally transport yourself to Knockturn Alley. Bit of a freak show, that place. Stay safe. Oh, and we're all staying at the Leaky Cauldron, so if you're looking for us, you'll find us there._

_Love from Michelle._

_P.S. Teddy got Head Boy, and the boys have been taunting me all week. They think just because another Hufflepuff has the job means they'll automatically win the House Cup this year. Don't think I'm letting you guys get it that easily._

The endings to Michelle's letters always left Peter feeling lightheaded. Obviously 'Love from Michelle' wasn't the same as 'Love' but... no. She was his best friend at school. He loved writing to her over the summer. They basically shared custody of an owl. Peter didn't...

Yeah, he did. And he'd had several long conversations with Geronimo over the matter. The advice Peter received was minimal at best, but he had to hand it to the owl; he was a particularly good listener, and since the letters kept coming, he assumed Geronimo didn't repeat a word of it to Michelle.

Peter wanted to tell her in person.

Not long after he told Ned about his blossoming romantic emotions towards the mysterious girl, his best friend helped him realize how painfully obvious Michelle had a crush on him. Or at the very least was infatuated with him.

Whether that really was the case or not, Peter didn't want to add another secret to the burden he was already carrying. Telling Michelle that he liked her would have been a bigger relief than keeping it from her, no matter what the risk was.

Peter never worried about Michelle not reciprocating. The real danger in his mind was Will, Cal, and Abel. Will specifically. All three were like her brothers, but Will was the one who was most overprotective of her. Dating your friends sister was crossing the line in a major way.

He couldn't just _stop_ liking Michelle, but he didn't want to stop being friends with them either.

"Fuck." Peter shook his head, folding up her letter and slipping it into the back pocket of his jeans.

He could only worry about one thing at a time, deciding the best thing to do at the moment was resume getting his things together.


	16. Chapter 16

Peter looked over his list once more before crumpling it up and stuffing it in his bag. He didn't plan on making it a long trip (Peter would easily make it back to the apartment before dinner), so he wasn't taking many things with him to Diagon Alley.

Inside his bag, Peter made sure to leave plenty of room to carry his textbooks, and brought just enough Galleons to pay for everything.

Hagrid - being the generous friend he was - took a portion of Peter's Muggle money and exchanged it for their wizarding currency down a Gringotts. He even went the extra mile to help set up a vault for Peter, which the goblins were investing wisely on his behalf.

Peter was still hesitant to trust those creatures with Professor Trelawney's warning lingering in the back of his mind.

Removing the gold Sling Ring from under his pillow, he slipped it on, a warmth travelling up his arm as he closed his fist around it. Peter extended his arms, drawing the door while keeping his mind focused on the Leaky Cauldron.

He stepped through the sparkling orange portal, returning to the streets of London for the first time in months.

Peter looked on to the nearest building; the familiar sign materializing right before his eyes that said ' _The Leaky Cauldron'._ People - definitely Muggles - walked past it as if it didn't really exist.

The street hadn't changed a bit since his last visit with Hagrid. The tiny, grubby-looking pub still looked abandoned to the average viewer, standing next to the record store on its left. The newer appearance of the store made the Leaky Cauldron look even undesirable.

On the right was a building more fond to Peter's memory; the massive book store he went to when he wanted to get a gift for Michelle.

Shaking his head to get his mind back into the present, Peter walked up to the windowless black door.

He pushed it open, and was welcomed to the sight of other wizards and witches gathered around tables. Most of them were simply trying to eat breakfast with their families, but there were a few who were still drinking from the night before, singing along to the cheery music playing in the background.

Among these occupants, sitting in the back corner, were Will, Cal, Abel, and two adults. They could have been the parents of either pair of twins; Peter had no idea whose though. Michelle, however, wasn't with the group.

"Morning, Peter." Hannah smiled at him from behind the counter.

They'd spoken a couple times when she was visiting her husband, Professor Longbottom, at Hogwarts. Hannah was always nice to him and the other students - especially since the Hufflepuff's since that used to be her house.

At the sight of him, multiple dwellers of the Leaky Cauldron turned to face him; their reactions mixed between disgust and delight.

As it turned out, Rita Skeeter's first article left a lasting impression on some people. Peter couldn't finish reading _Web of Lies_ without wanting to gouge his own eyes out, and that was only the beginning. After the Ministry of Magic decided he was welcome in the wizarding world, a second article came out.

And then another, and another, and another, all painting false narratives about Peter's source of power, and character. According to that woman, he only saved people for the fame and glory, all in an attempt to make up for his lack of a father figure.

Pathetic.

The only thing that gave Peter relief was that his fellow students didn't believe a word of this.

Still, being berated by two newspapers really took a lot out of a person.

Peter smiled back at Hannah, navigating through the maze of tables until he came to the Jones family. Cal, who saw him from a distance, made a quick effort to bring out another chair and welcomed Peter to sit down, introducing him to the two adults.

"Hello there." the man said, his voice simultaneously deep and soothing. He extended his hand across the table, shaking Peter's firmly. "Very pleased to meet you, Peter, it's Peter Parker, isn't it?"

The very mention of his name was drew even more attention to their table. Peter sunk down in his chair and took a gulp from the goblet, hoping to bring down his temperature that was rising rapidly.

"Yes, sir." he muttered. "It's - it's nice to meet you too."

The man looked over Peter's shoulder at the crowd staring at him, scoffing.

"Bloody nightmare, the Daily Prophet." he said, returning to his breakfast. "Can't believe they still let that woman write for them - especially about children for heaven's sake. The Peter Parker in the papers seems like a completely different person than the one we've heard of; Michelle's been talking about you all summer."

"Drake." the woman next to him whispered, her eyebrows raised.

It was then Peter came to the conclusion these were definitely Michelle and Will's parents. The woman's eyes were the exact same as Michelle's - bright green, almost glowing. They must have married very young; having two fifteen year old children and appearing to be in their mid to late thirties.

"Well, she has." Drake turned to face his wife, unaware to the fact that Peter could hear everything they were saying. "Never talks about anything else, that girl."

He wished he could have had better control over his senses, but no such luck. Peter would have tried to cover his ears, but that would have been impolite.

"Yes, sweetie, I was there." she raised her eyebrows once more, nudging him with her knee under the table until he got the picture.

"Martha... _ohh,_ yes." Drake cleared his throat.

Will seemed desperate to get the conversation off his sister. Peter thought it was best to pretend he hadn't heard anything about Michelle this morning.

"Professor McGonagall's hired a new teacher." Will said, unprompted. "At least that's what Teddy told me. Finally found someone daft enough to fill the Defence Against the Dark Arts position; if he's like all the rest, he won't make it past June."

There was a reason no one wanted the position. According to Will, the last seven teachers ended up sacked or dead by the end of the year. The other professors had to fill in on a daily basis to make sure the class was taught, and it made for a pretty chaotic year.

"Who's got the death wish, then?" Peter asked, eyes darting between each of the family members.

"Didn't catch his name." Will shrugged, reaching across the table to gram the jam. "We'll find out next week, I guess. Me? I don't think I'll bother remembering. I'm not even sure I want to take the class once I'm done with my O.W.L.'s."

"You'll do no such thing." Martha said firmly. "It's an important class. Besides, Michelle's going to stick with it."

"Me too." Cal added.

Abel laughed under his breath, mumbling something about Amelia. It was general knowledge that most of Cal's decisions were influenced by the Ravenclaw girl. Whatever class she took, he made sure to take it too, no matter boring he thought it was.

"Speaking of Michelle," Drake looked at the empty chair, then towards the stairs leading upwards. "why hasn't she come down yet? It's not like her to get a slow start - especially today. Always the first one in line to get her new books."

Peter smiled to himself, thinking back to all the times she came into the Great Hall in the morning, slamming a stack of books on the table. He never knew how she was able to make it through them all so quickly.

"Come on." Will wiped his mouth with his sleeve (much to the disapproval of his mother), got to his feet, taking the rest of the boys with him. "We'll go check on her."

The four of them walked up the worn stairs of the Leaky Cauldron, going across the carpeted floor until they came to a door marked '11'. They stopped, Will banging on it three times. Peter heard a groan come from the other side as well as a thud, the sound of bare feet going across the wooden floor.

The door swung open, an exhausted Michelle punching her brother on the shoulder. She was still wearing her nightgown, the sheet from the bed draped over her shoulders. Once Will, Cal, and Abel stepped to the side, Michelle was wide awake, and Peter's vision became obscured by her curly brown hair.

Michelle had thrown herself at Peter to hug him, but retreated a second later, her face glowing red. Peter sighed, taking in her distinct aroma of parchment and apple-scented tea.

"Hi." she breathed out, wrapping herself up a little bit tighter. It appeared as though he'd grown a little more than she did over the summer, visibly shorter than he was.

"Hi." Peter echoed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Geronimo came zooming out of her room, right towards his head. Peter ducked, and the owl came back around and landed on his shoulder. "And hello to you too."

Cal and Abel were smirking, but Will didn't seem pleased with his sister, or Peter for that matter. His arms were crossed, glaring at Peter until he stepped back.

"How've you been?" Michelle asked, looking past her brother, who had to stand on his tiptoes to cover Peter completely.

"You can talk later." Will answered for him. "Now, hurry up and get dressed, please. We've been waiting for you to get up all morning."

"Right, right." she nodded, motioning for Geronimo to return to her room. Michelle started to close the door, but peeked her head out for a moment, smiling at Peter before she disappeared.


End file.
